Soul Forge
by Zooie
Summary: Duo Maxwell's childhood on L2, spanning from his time in the Maxwell Orphanage to his training as a Gundam Pilot.
1. Soul Forge

Disclaimer: Gundam Wing, being the product of minds far more creative than mine and the property of people far rich than I could ever hope to be, most certainly does not belong to me. I promise I'm making nary a cent from these ramblings... although I feel my mind is richer from the creative process.

Author's Aside: My muses have been dead to me for the better part of five years. I haven't written anything sans term papers since tenth grade. Therefore it came as quite a surprise when I suddenly felt the urge to once more put the pen to paper. Many hours and liters of tea later, I found myself sitting in front of this, completely composed while my consciousness was on hiatus. I suppose my muses have at long last returned and it seems they've arrived with a vengeance! Though I pray they take up permanent residence, I know not to push things. I am quite thankful that I finished this before they vacated my mindscape once more. With a bit of luck they will pay me a visit more often, but for now, I hope you enjoy what their fickle attentions have wrought!

Author's Notes: Duo was about seven when he was first taken to Maxwell orphanage. This fic begins during his ninth year of life and ends right before the Maxwell Church Massacre. 

__

Yadda Yadda Yadda = thoughts

Warnings: Very mild language.

****

Soul Forge

"Duo! Come play with us!" The children's voices jolted through the serenity created painstakingly by Sister Helen's ever patient hands. Some days it seemed the walls of the orphanage rang constantly with thin, young voices and this was one of them. After a trying morning spent enduring everything from, "Allie pulled my pigtail!" to, "Joch licked me!" to, "He ate a rock!" the matronly nun had run low on a particular virtue. She'd sent her charges outside for some much needed exercise and then had sat down at the kitchen table, a pair of child's trousers draped across her lap and a needle pinched in her right hand, intending to make a dent in the formidable mending pile. She suspected her efforts were futile_. As quickly as I fix them, they tear them up again. And that's assuming they don't outgrow them first. These clothes have been mended so many times, I think my stitches are more abundant than the original fabric. They're positively threadbare. It's no wonder they rip all the time, they're so thin. I don't know what we're going to do when the cold weather cycle begins. They can't wear these clothes and the winter garments are just as bad. Some of the children will have to share coats... _

The urge to massage her temples was quite strong. Lately it had seemed that no matter how much she and Father Maxwell scrimped and saved, they just couldn't provide enough for their small dependants. With increasing tensions between the colonies and earth, food prices had been on the rise. Ensuring there was enough to eat for each growing body and a decent amount of water for each thirsty mouth left few funds for anything else, even other necessities. _Like coats, shoes, socks, underwear, hats, scarves, mittens... I just pray that Joch doesn't have another growth spurt. That boy grows even faster than Duo runs at bed time. _Sighing, she poked her needle half-heartedly at the jagged rent in the pant leg. 

"Duuuuuuuu-ooooooooooo!" Fuzzy's whine could shatter glass, his voice inanely high-pitched for someone as husky as he. "I wanna play tag, not hide and go seek! Where are you?!" 

Sister Helen hoped Duo had the good sense to stay far away from Fuzzy. She loved all of her orphans, but was not blind to their flaws. She'd be the first to admit that Fuzzy was a touch sadistic or that Molly had a run-away mouth. 

"Duo! If you don't come out here right now, I'm gonna tell Sister what you said to teacher!" Allie warned, his tone sounding very serious indeed.

Or that Duo had a tendency to disappear. 

The orphanage door slammed abruptly open and six sets of tiny feet came smattering down the front hall, heading directly for the kitchen. With a resigned sigh, she set down her task and stood, just as the barrage of youths arrived.

"Sister! Sister! I know you sent us out to play but Duo didn't come out with us and when we looked for him we couldn't find him and we called and called but he didn't come and we want to play tag but he's our team's captain and we can't start without him and we want to know if you know where he is!" Molly somehow managed to speak a paragraph on a single breath, her frizzy red hair sticking out at odd angles above her sweet face. Her thin hands clutched anxiously at her gray flannel skirt.

__

She's going to tear a hole, Helen thought desperately.

Allie sidled up next to her before she could chide Molly. Surreptitiously, he pulled on the sleeve of her habit. She bent down slightly, giving him her full attention, for Allie demanded nothing less. "Yesterday at school, Duo told the teacher that he didn't believe in God. When she asked why, he said because he'd never seen God make anything, but he'd seen Shinigami kill an awful lot of stuff. Then the teacher said that you would be mad if you knew how he felt. He told her you knew and weren't mad at all. He said that if anything, you'd be mad at teacher for trying to make us all believe things without questioning. He said that unless we question, we'll never really learn. Then SHE said if he was so good at questioning, why hadn't he learned that God was real yet. And HE said that he couldn't find God until he found the right question. And SHE said-"

"That's enough now, Allie," Sister Helen cut him off. _I wish his common sense were as strong as his memory for details, _she sighed inwardly. _He can remember every bit of this conversation, but can't recall where his shoes are half the time. _"I've spoken with your teacher already and the whole matter is cleared up. Don't worry any more about it." She patted him on his little blonde head. _Not that you were worried anyway. You just wanted to get poor Duo in trouble,_ she thought uncharitably, then started._ Heaven forgive me... you mustn't judge the children, Helen. They do their best. They've had hard lives. If you don't forgive them and love them, who will? _Determined to be more fair-minded, she pasted a smile on her face and took Allie by his hand. "Come," she instructed. "Let's find Duo together." She led the motley crew from the kitchen. "And please don't pull at your skirt, Molly dear."

************

"But Father Maxwell," Duo implored. "I learn squat at that school. Why can't I stay here with you and have you teach me?" He stared up at Father Maxwell's heavily lined face, blue-violet eyes wide with anticipation. They were in the rear of the Maxwell church and Father Maxwell had just finished hearing the daily confessions. He had exited the confessional to find his most rambunctious orphan waiting for him, perched atop a pew back, stick legs swinging carelessly. As Father Maxwell approached him in curiosity, Duo had sprung off the pew and launched into a long dissertation about the evils of public schooling and how his mind was being polluted. Recognizing a long discussion when he saw one, Father Maxwell had seated himself on the hard pew bench, pulling Duo down to sit next to him. He'd listened sympathetically as Duo recounted yet another awful day at school, his attempts to make it humorous only serving to accentuate the aggravation and pain he felt. Before long, Duo had sprung back off the bench and was flitting to and fro up and down the aisle. Father Maxwell watched him, feeling slightly dizzy, as Duo reached the climax of his speech. 

He came to a stop at the end of Father Maxwell's pew, pale face scrunched in concentration, bangs flopping in his eyes. His body, forever kept in motion by a combination of nervous tension and ingrained habit, shifted restlessly from side to side, his bony hands cutting through the air in rapid gesticulations. "I promise not to say that God sucks anymore! And just think of all the time you'll save! You won't have to keep apologizing when I kick some sense into those morons in my class! And I can help Sister cook and clean. And I'll help collect the water and I'll even make all the beds in the morning! Well, not Fuzzy's, but everyone else's! I'll learn how to take care of everybody and then you and Sister can have a day off and relax! Just let me learn at home!"

He meant it, too, Father Maxwell knew. The boy might be outspoken, brash even, but he was honest to a fault. That was a big part of his problem at school, he suspected. Duo couldn't tell when silence was the best course to follow. He would say what he felt or do what he wanted without regard for context or appropriateness or consequences. As a result he'd spent much of his school career in disgrace and Sister Helen and he were well acquainted with much of the school's faculty and staff. One day Duo would have to learn that inaction could be as valuable as action itself, but for now...

"Come here, my son," the priest opened his arms and allowed Duo's thin form to crawl up into his lap. _Helen is worrying her head off about the children outgrowing their winter clothes, but I think we can discount that option for this one. He almost looks like he's smaller than he was last year. _Father Maxwell knew that years of malnourishment and overexertion had stunted the orphan's physical development. He had hoped that with the steady diet and moderate exercise the orphanage provided, Duo would have a bit of a growth spurt, but so far none had been forthcoming. _Patience, Father Maxwell. One day he will grow. One day he will be as strong in body as he is in mind,_ he soothed himself. 

As Duo nestled his spare frame in the comfort of his benefactor's warm embrace, Father Maxwell found himself wishing he could heed the boy's request and keep him home from school. The urge to protect the fragile body curled in his lap was nearly overwhelming. _I know that school is not the best learning environment. I know he'd learn far more if left to his own devices than he ever will confined in a classroom. But I fear it's just not possible. For one thing, I doubt my small amount of knowledge will come close to satiating his curiousity. He will only grow more discontent._

"As much as I appreciate your offer, Duo," he carefully began, "I fear I cannot allow you to learn with me." He sensed the moment that Duo's defenses snapped into place, despite the boy's attempt to remain relaxed and limp. _He prepares himself for rejection. He fears I say no because I find him repulsive or unworthy. _"As much as I would adore your company-" (a slight weakening in the defenses) "-this colony requires all children to attend school by law. Pulling you from school without any explanation would raise many questions that we cannot justifiably answer. You would be at risk and thus, so would we."

"So I can't escape that hellhole." Duo sounded resigned, staring at the floor and refusing to meet the priest's eyes. "I can't leave without hurting you and Sister..." He was silent for a long moment, turning choices over in his mind, trying to find a favorable path to follow. Apparently unsuccessful, he hunched his tiny shoulders and tossed his heavy braid, the epitome of bluff and bluster. His young voice gravely spoke out. "I'm warning you now, I ain't going back happily."

Resisting the urge to laugh, Father Maxwell managed to respond civilly. "We'll deal with that when it's time to return, my child. For now, try to enjoy the weekend." As he comfortingly rubbed Duo's narrow back, he wished he couldn't feel the boy's ribs through the fragile cotton of his shirt. _Food is getting more and more expensive. I fear all the children are too thin to live long off of diminished rations. Something must be done before the cold sets in._ But that could wait. Winter wasn't for another month yet and there were far more pressing problems to be dealt with today. Such as Duo.

Gently, he reached down and lifted Duo's chin with his hand, so that he could meet the boy's eyes. "Remember, my son, this Sunday it is your turn to help me at mass." Duo stubbornly looked away. 

"I ain't helpin'. I don't go for that crud and you know it."

Father Maxwell was not above a bit of manipulation himself. Holy man he might be, but even men of the cloth need to have a few tricks up their sleeves. "It would make Sister Helen and I very happy if you helped at mass, Duo. Please say you will. For Sister."

Duo stole a quick look at Father Maxwell's face, peering upward through his unruly bangs. "I-if it would make her happy..."

"It would."

"Okay, then. I'll help. But you're gonna let me drink some wine this time, right?"

Father Maxwell laughed. "We'll see."

********

They'd searched the entire orphanage, the lot of them. They'd explored every nook, cranny, and crevice. They'd found a half-eaten ration bar, nearly a dozen hair ties, plenty of dust bunnies, a few discarded school books, a broken pocketknife, some twine, and a whistle, but no Duo. _And if he's not hidden away in a corner daydreaming, _Sister Helen deduced, _that means he's in the church with Father Maxwell. And THAT means the children are going to have to play sans their friend._ Duo was an peculiar child. He always seemed to feel more at ease with adults than with his peers. _Odd, given his past, but I suppose I can't blame him. He connects with adults in a way he never does with the other children. He just doesn't understand them and they don't understand him, either. You can't fault him for going where he feels he belongs. _

Laughing and teasing, she led the children back to the kitchen. They shuffled discontentedly, shoes scuffing the tile floor, disappointment evident on their faces. "Where'd he get to, Sister?" Joch questioned. "We done looked all over. Where'd he get hisself to?"

"Himself, Joch," she absently corrected. "And I have no idea where he could be. Perhaps he is hiding outside or has gone for a walk." _More like a gallop, knowing him._ "I'm sure he'll turn up soon. In the meantime, though, you kids scamper back outside. Go on, now. I have lots of mending to do." She chased them to the door amidst many shrieks and much pushing. Internally, she berated herself for lying to the children, but recognized it as a necessary evil. _I'll do an extra rosary tonight,_ she promised herself.

Finally, she thought in relief as the last small form darted out to play. Shutting the door firmly, she returned to the kitchen. She had just sat down when she caught a small movement out of the corner of her eye. Startled, she sprang from her seat, knocking the chair to the floor, hand held to her chest. Equally startled by the loud bang produced by the fallen chair, Fuzzy sprang backwards against the wall, pressing himself against it so he was nearly flat. They stared at one another for the briefest of moments, then each relaxed with a self-depreciating grin.

"Sorry, Sister. Didn't mean ta scare ya," Fuzzy offered insincerely. "I had a question for ya."

"Ask away, Fuzzy," Sister Helen responded, eying the boy reproachfully. She knew he had startled her on purpose, but was reluctant to punish the lad. He was already spiteful and cruel towards the other children. Curdling his temper further with a punishment was not likely to improve matters for anyone.

"How come Duo always get ta do what he want ta do but we all have ta do whatcha say?" Fuzzy spat indignantly, his fury marred by the absurdity of his strange accent. His hands clenched into fists by his sides, his stance solid. He almost looked ready to hit the nun if her answer was not to his liking.

__

I will NOT fear one of my children, she told herself steadily, although she was currently doing just that. She had seen Fuzzy break a man's nose shortly after he came to the orphanage. Bolstering her courage, she looked Fuzzy in the eye and told him, "Duo doesn't get special treatment, young man. I assure you, once he is found, he will be reprimanded for disappearing without word." Not that he would be punished severely, but she _would _sit him down for a heart-to-heart. "And you will apologize for taking that tone with me. We brought you up to show respect. You are better than this, Fuzzy. I know you are."

Fuzzy looked down and muttered, " 'orry," before skittering out of the room and back outside, his fury engulfed by shame. 

__

I instill guilt so very well, she winced_. I fear my rosary will be even more extended tonight than I thought._

On that note, she picked up the half-repaired pants and began poking the needle in and out of the fabric once more.

************

"Der becomes dem in the accusative case. Likewise, die becomes der and das becomes dem. Plural die is... Duo? Duo! Pay attention, Duo!" the teacher stopped mid-sentence to reprimand her most rebellious student. Seated front row, center -so she could keep her eye on him- the braided child had an annoying tendency to drift off in the middle of a lesson. One minute he'd be diagramming sentences with the rest of the class, the next he was... gone.

"Ja, ja. Es tut mir leid. Brot und butter, Mutter, bitte. Gerade aus,[1]" Duo sputtered, pulled abruptly from his musings. Seeing the teacher's sour expression, he felt his heart sink. _Screwed up again. Sister's gonna kill me_. "Uh, cave canum?[2]"

"This is German instruction, most certainly NOT Latin,[3]" Ms. Kreuz snapped imperiously. "If you cannot pay attention to me, I fail to see why I should make any effort to educate you." The class tittered. 

"Cuz you're paid to?" Duo sweetly ventured without thought. _Crud. My mouth shot off *again.* When you going to learn, you idiot? _He had barely ceased chastising himself when flashing lights went off in his mind, interrupting his train of thought. _Warning! Warning! Rabid female, two o'clock! _Before he could blink, Ms. Kreuz was at his desk, yard stick in hand. _Awww, crud. _"I'm sorry, Ms. Kreuz. I spoke without thought. I was unaware that you were posing a rhetorical question." He spoke his formal best, dredging up his most charming smile, the one he wore when the prospective parents visited the orphanage. People never wanted to adopt a depressed orphan. He'd perfected his smile just for those visits, those brief windows of hope for a normal life...

"Your hand, Duo," Ms. Kreuz sourly instructed. He gaped up at her, blinking his long eyelashes in an apparent lack of understanding. "Please, Duo. We've gone through this too many times for you to play dumb now. Just hold out your hand so we can get on with class." She sounded almost tired.

__

Well, at least Sister will give me a get-well cookie, Duo thought wistfully, holding out his hand to accept punishment. *WHAM* The yard stick connected sharply with his palm, the slap raising a red welt where it had landed. _And there goes any kind of penmanship I had. I hope Ms. Kreuz has a decoder ring. _ Duo had seen a decoder ring, once, before the plague began. He and So- his partner... had been hiding from a rival gang in an antique shop. A decoder ring had been in the display case, kept safe behind glass. Duo had asked the man behind the counter what it was and he had taken it out and shown them...

"DUO! For goodness sake, you can't even pay attention while I punish you! What am I going to do with you?" she grated in frustration, yard stick brandishing furiously in the air. The class watched the proceeding with morbid fascination. 

"Sorry, Ms. Kreuz," Duo offered in a small voice. He really was sorry, too. _I hate it when people get upset 'cause of me. I'm not important enough for anyone to get upset over. _"I'll try to pay attention now, I promise."

She looked at him sadly. "Let's hope the rest of the day is a better success, shall we?" Returning to the blackboard, she gently placed the yard stick on the chalk ledge before facing the six rows of students. "Class, it is time for lunch. Please be returned to your seats in an hour." She left the room.

"You are so gonna get it when you get home," Fuzzy grinned beside Duo. "I'm gonna tell Sister Helen all 'boutcha!"

Duo looked dully up at the larger boy. "Ms. Kreuz is calling her right now, you moron. You'd just be boring her." Normally he'd accompany his retort with an off-kilter grin or a jaunty shrug, but not today. Today he just felt like curling up in bed, with Sister Helen rubbing his back. He just felt all out of sorts. _I *told* Father Maxwell I couldn't stand this place. How am I supposed to learn anything when I'm so bored I could fall asleep? _his mind sparked. _It wouldn't be so bad if they hadn't stuck me in this god awful baby class. I sure ain't gonna lie and say I've been to school before, but any moron knows the crap they teach in here. I may not come from a fancy home, but I'm not dumb, dammit!_

He had never attended school before he came to the orphanage. When Sister Helen had enrolled him in the colony's education system two years ago, he'd been placed in the lowest level classroom. After a few months of witnessing his daydreaming and inattention, the teacher had decided he was "special needs" and scooted him into a different class. A class where index cards were taped to objects, labeling them "chair" and "door" and "window." A class where half the students didn't have the dexterity to hold a pencil correctly, let alone pick a pocket. A class where naptime was the thrill of the day. Duo hadn't been sure what to do to rectify the situation. He truly didn't know the material they were teaching, even in that slowest of the slow class, but that was because he'd _started _learning at much more advanced levels. He was, essentially, regressing with each passing day. The teacher knew that he was far past the class' skill level, but there was little she could do. Every time she tried to shift him into an advanced class, he was sent right back for special help, "discipline problems" noted as the driving factor. He was effectively held captive by his own mind and his resulting frustration was the instigator to many a fight. He had been far from a model student.

As that first school year passed, Duo had eventually learned how to fit in with his classmates, but at the compromise of his own character. He learned to play the fool and rather than laugh at his peers' intellectual ineptness, he began to aid them in their lessons. This feat gained him a large group friends and slightly eased his passage through each tedious day. At least then he could help the "morons" instead of ripping his hair out, resentful of his mis-education. His grades gradually improved, even as his attention span became more and more eclectic.

The second year was no better. He had been placed into a normal class, but it was still far below his skill level. Surrounded by students years younger than he, he once more found himself acting moronic and childish, a far cry from the mature leader he had been on the streets. He learned to adapt to different situations, even as his textbooks gathered dust. His grades held steady, the best in his class, but his daydreaming kicked in with a vengeance. He developed two personalities, one he used at school and with the other orphans and one he reserved solely for Father Maxwell and Sister Helen, that being his true self. Yet with each passing month the first mask became cemented more firmly into place, until his inner self was locked neatly away inside.

So far the third year at school was looking no more promising that the previous couple. He'd advanced to the second grade along with the rest of his classmates, despite the fact that he could easily have been handling ninth or tenth grade lessons. Now resigned to his fate, he had easily fallen into the pattern set by the past two years, frustrating yet another teacher with his underachiever attitude.

"Hey! You listenin' ta me?" Fuzzy interrupted his thoughts with a sharp bark. Duo looked up and met the eyes of the younger -yet taller- boy. _Damned asshole. _Fuzzy seemed to take sadistic pleasure in harassing the smaller youth, never passing up a chance to get a little dig in. _Yesterday he stole my roll at dinner. This morning he tripped me on our way to school. At snack time he pulled my braid. What'll it be now?_ Duo was getting hard-pressed not to kick Fuzzy's stinking behind. All that had stopped him thus far was the imagined disappointment that would surely appear in Sister Helen's eyes when she heard what he'd done. _Thank my guilty conscience you still breathe, you jerk._ He directed that thought-bullet right between Fuzzy's beady little eyes.

"I was sayin' that you'd best be watchin' yerself. If'n your poor wittle hand gets whacked much more, yer not gunna be able ta help Sister Helen make dinner ta-night. And then I'm guessin' I'm gunna have ta step in and help," Fuzzy sneered. He _knew _that was Duo's special job, just as his was to assist Father Maxwell in polishing the Communion silver and Allie got to help fold the special priest's robes. _I'm not gonna get pissed off. I'm not gonna get pissed off. I'm not gonna get pissed off._

"I guess I'd better be careful then," Duo retorted with a lop-sided grin. _ Smile. Don't make him angry. Just tell him off with a smile. No one will get mad if you smile. _"I wouldn't want to be held responsible for the poisoning of a holy man!"

Fuzzy scoffed, but Duo could tell his hostility was greatly diminished. "Ya only wish." The broad-boned boy turned, heading back to his seat. Duo didn't relax until he heard Fuzzy's chair scrape back under his desk. _What, no braid yank? I feel so unloved._

After he stowed his notebook safely away (its pages containing more doodles than notes), Duo pulled a small, handkerchief-wrapped bundle from his desk and set about extracting his lunch. He untied the firm knot holding the parcel together and revealed an apple, half a peanut butter sandwich, and a small slip of paper. Ignoring the food, he eagerly picked up the scrap. 

"Thirty minutes of snuggle time," the note read, carefully written in Sister Helen's flowing script. Duo winced. _Snuggle time? I do *not* do snuggle time. Not that a nice, long hug is a bad thing... but *snuggle* time?!_ He sighed. _Not that it makes much difference anyway. The deal's only good if I get through the day without getting in trouble. Already blew *that* to hell and back. Ah, well. There's always tomorrow. _Although lately it had been getting increasingly harder to stay in the teacher's good graces. She was growing impatient with him much faster than the last two teachers had.

Biting into his sandwich, Duo found that the peanut butter was grossly disproportionate to the bread. In fact, he could hardly taste anything _but _bread. _Food must be gettin' scarce again. I wonder what I can do to help? Not much, since they won't let me steal anything... _Polishing off the sandwich, he picked up the scrawny apple and regarded it pensively. _If my lunch was small, I'm sure Fuzzy's was, too. And he's a heck of a lot bigger than me. _Carefully, he contemplated the state of his stomach. _I'm not hungry, but I'm sure Fuzzy still is. I may not be able to get us more food, but I can at least do this much. _

Rising from his chair, he walked towards the back of the class and stopped next to Fuzzy's desk. Sure enough, the husky brunette had already devoured his food and was looking rather unsatisfied. He was staring with envy at the lunches of the more fortunate students surrounding him. 

"Hey, meat head. Seeing as how you're so smart and all, I thought I'd make you a special offer. I give you my apple and you don't tell Sister that I got in trouble. My apple, your silence. How's that sound?" Duo grinned. _I'm not lying, not really. I'm just... tweaking the truth a little. It's necessary. He'd never trust me if I tried to just *give* him the apple. I have to make him think he's doing me a favor by taking it._

His efforts backfired. He'd over thought the situation, as usual. Would he learn that there was elegance in simplicity?

"Is this a trick?" Fuzzy suspiciously asked, his dull brown, animal eyes narrowed. "Are ya gonna tell Sister I took yer apple or somethin' when we get home? Tryin' ta get _me _in trouble so she don't get mad at ya?" _Wow. Big thought for bozo here. Hope he doesn't give himself a migraine._

"No, siree. How long have we known each other, Fuzz? You know I don't lie! This is a one hundred percent genuine, Duo-certified, deal of the day. Guaranteed free of all tricks and strings. My apple in exchange for the safety of my skin. Take it or leave it," he replied, tossing the apple up and down in the air. _Just take the goddamn thing, you jerk. I'm trying to do you a favor here. Don't be a prick. I know you want it. You're practically drooling like the Neanderthal you are._

" 'Duo-certified?' What's that mean? Ya tryin' ta make a fool outta me?" Fuzzy's voice was rising alarmingly fast. The other students, usually content to leave the orphans to their own devices, began to take notice. They looked up collectively from their perfectly constructed meals, lovingly packed by mothers' nurturing hands. Their attention was piqued. A drama was unfolding in the lunchtime forum and it was infinitely more interesting than the usual childish conversations. Duo knew if he cared to look, he'd see expressions ranging from blood-thirsty to embarrassed, with the former significantly outweighing the latter. _Oh, shit. Back away slowly now, idiot. Do *not* make this worse than it already is. The last thing you need is for the Priss Patrol to run tattling to teacher._

"Ah, sorry there, Fuzzy, my man," he held his hands up in the classic no-harm-meant position. "I was just saying that you could have my apple. That's all. I don't want it and I bet you're still hungry. But if you don't want it either, that's fine. I'll just take it and-"

As he turned to leave, Fuzzy's beefy hand shot out and grabbed the sleeve of his shirt, jerking him to a halt. "Fork it over. Ya offered. I'm takin', deal or no."_ Well, the means were a bit different than I had envisioned, but the ends are still the same. _Silently, he handed said apple over to his glaring companion, watching as it was inhaled in a matter of seconds. His stomach suddenly growled. _Guess I was still hungry after all,_ he ruefully admitted. _Too late now._

Fuzzy looked up, licking his lips in satisfaction. "Ya still here? Get goin', squirt!" He raised his thick eyebrows, doing his best to look intimidating. He didn't have to try too hard. Not that Duo was afraid, precisely. He was just... respectful of powers mightier than his. He returned to his desk and sat looking at Sister Helen's note. 

Suddenly his hand began to throb.

********

Days passed and winter arrived, snaking its cold, blue fingers around all in its path. The colony's weather cycles seldom operated properly and fall was practically nonexistent. The citizens would go to sleep one night, comfortable in cotton pajamas, and wake up the next morning able to see their breath. Curses would be spewed, heaters bumped up, and winter clothes dragged from storage. Somehow no one ever could pinpoint the exact date winter commenced and hence all were caught unawares, year after year. It was merely a fact of life.

Sister Helen hated winter. She hated the runny noses, the persistent coughs, the savage wind that would bite through the orphanage's thin walls. She hated the arguments that would spring up as cabin fever set in, the squabbles that occurred over the "good" coats and mittens, the begging for hot chocolate that the orphanage's budget could ill afford. She hated the occasional snowstorm that would develop, the wet tracks she would find in the halls, the soaked garments that would drip on the floors. She hated the savage snowball fights that would result in someone sobbing in her arms, the rush to collect as much snow as possible so they could melt it for precious water, the disappointed look on the children's faces when she was forced to disassemble their snowman for the same purpose. She hated the whining complaints about being cold most of all. Unable to afford the ridiculous prices charged for heat, she kept the thermostat as high as she dared, yet knew it was not nearly warm enough to keep too-thin bodies from becoming chilled. Powerless to do anything about their discomfort, all she could do was bundle her children into ever increasingly layers of clothes as temperatures continued to drop. They'd huddle together in their beds at night, sharing body heat and helping to tame their shivers. It wrenched her heart to see their little faces made pale by the cold. _Sometimes it is very hard to believe that you truly exist, my Lord. _She hated winter. It made her question her faith.

This winter looked to be no different from the rest. She awoke one morning to find a small body snuggled next to hers, burrowing into her warmth. "Hazel?" she questioned the child gently, sensing that she was awake. 

"Yes'm?" came Hazel's sleepy reply. 

"Did winter arrive?" 

"Yes'm." Hazel was one of the youngest orphans, being barely three. With her sweet disposition and adorable face, Sister Helen knew it wouldn't be long before she was adopted. Though some of her children would likely never find loving homes, for the most part God did smile on them. If God had been feeling particularly benevolent, the adoption would be so successful the parents would return for another child. Unfortunately, upon occasion an adoptive family would return a youngster, blaming irresolvable problems that they did not plan on dealing with. _Such as Viola's inability to love, Fuzzy's sadistic nature, or Duo's jarring observations. _She knew the failed adoptions were harder on the children than if they had never been chosen at all. _They feel as though they are rejected, something broken beyond repair. They feel... lacking. As though they aren't good enough to be loved or accepted._ All she could do, however, was offer her unconditional love and help them struggle through their emotions as best she could. _Life truly isn't fair._

Giving Hazel a generous hug, she managed to climb out of bed with the girl in her arms, the blankets wrapped firmly around them both. The floor chilled her feet quickly through and she tried to remember where she'd stored her slippers. "Let's see if we can't find the winter clothes before the others awaken, my dear," she smiled. 

Heading down the hall, she took a small flight of steps down two stories into a tiny basement, flicking the lights on as she passed the switch. The subterranean area was even colder than the upper floors and she was grateful she had brought her bedclothes along for the search. Shifting Hazel onto her right hip, she groped through a pile of boxes one-handedly. Finally locating one labeled "winter garb," she managed to heft it onto her free hip and began to the journey up to the kitchen. It was a bit of a struggle maneuvering through the doorways, but she and Hazel managed, the small girl helping to keep the blankets wrapped firmly around them both. 

Setting Hazel on a chair with the blankets and placing the box on the floor, Sister Helen set about to exhuming the heavy garments. Sorting each article of clothing into piles according to size, the table was soon covered with sweaters, long pants, heavy socks, coats, mittens, hats, scarves, flannel pajamas and nightgowns, even thermal underwear. _Some of these are in bad shape. I hope we receive some donations soon. I can't expect anyone to wear *this,*_ she thought indignantly as she held up a moth-eaten sweater. Hazel watched her with curiosity in her innocent green eyes.

"Sister Helen? Why is winter cold?" she suddenly asked. The nun paused, contemplating how to answer so that the child could understand. 

"Well, darling, on the Earth there are four different times of year. These are called seasons. Each season is different. One is hot, one is warm, one is cold, and one is cool. Each season leads into another one. Here in the colonies we have seasons like the Earth does, only ours are a little broken. We only have two seasons and each comes twice a year. One season is warm and one is cold. Winter is what we call the cold season. Does that help?" she asked, noting Hazel's furrowed brow.

"What happened to the other seasons?" Hazel questioned. "How did they break?"

Sister Helen chuckled. "If I could tell you that, my child, the colony would be very happy indeed."

The sound of discontent gasps could suddenly be heard from the large sleeping chamber upstairs. The rest of the children were waking up. Hurriedly, she finished sorting the winter wardrobe and shoved the box to the corner of the room. She had just straightened when a number of blanket-wrapped, tossle-headed young people came charging down the stairs, yelping with each frozen step.

"It's cold!" "I'm freezing!" "I call the green sweater!" "Ya had it last time! It's mine turn to wear it!" "Ohhh, red mittens!" "Give me some socks!" "Outta the way, I go first!" "Give that back!" "Stop pushing me!" "I'm hungry." "Is there anythin' without holes in it?" "Toss me those pants, will ya?" 

As the whirlwind of youths divvied up the clothes and laid claim to what they wanted, Sister Helen supervised and ensured all wound up with a warm set of clothing. She tried to divide the newest items evenly, so that everyone had at least one thing that would keep them warm. She secured decent outfits for the more hesitant children and pried some things away from the more exuberant souls. Shooing everyone back upstairs to get dressed, she set about to getting Hazel out of her pajamas and into a sweater and corduroy pants. She was twitching a miniature pair of socks into place when her ears caught the shuffle of bare feet on the tile floor. Looking up, she saw Duo standing in the doorway, clad in a t-shirt and shorts, examining the table with a practiced eye. He didn't appear cold at all.

"No new donations, huh, Sister?" he asked flatly. She abstained from answering, knowing he didn't need to be told that everything was from last year... and the year before... and the year before. "Oh, well. It's new to most of them, anyway." He picked through the remaining clothes, expertly examining them all, recognizing which would be of use and which were ready for the rag bag. "Is it okay if I take this sweater?" he asked, holding up a slightly discolored blue affair with a giant snowflake on the front. The other children had rejected it as ugly, but Sister Helen knew its weave was tight and would keep out most of the chill. She nodded and Duo draped it over a chair-back before beginning the search for a pair of pants that would fit. He settled on a worn pair of khakis that had generous cargo pockets on each leg. After snatching up a pair of thick socks, some flannel pajama pants, and fringed scarf, he gathered up his selections and exited the room. 

"Duo!" she called after him. He stuck his head through the doorway, braid swinging from side to side.

"Yes, Sister?" 

"Aren't you going to take a coat?" she chided gently. He looked at her blankly, too-large eyes unblinking.

"Don't need one," he said shortly and disappeared.

They went through this every year. She would try to force him to wear a coat and he would insist he was used to the cold from his years on the streets. She would tell him not to be foolish, then he would insist and tell her the others needed the coat more than he did. She would give in, he would get sick, and she'd spend the rest of the winter trying to stave off pneumonia or bronchitis or whatever nasty bug was circulating currently. _Stubborn boy. _

Sighing, she smiled down at Hazel. The blonde child regarded her with a serious expression, chewing on one finger. "I think," Hazel told her. "It's breakfast time." As if to punctuate her statement, her stomach rumbled rather loudly. Sister Helen laughed and headed for the stove.

"I do believe you're correct!"

********

Duo coughed thickly. Sister had warned him to wear a coat, but he had never listened before, why start now? The younger children needed the coat far more than he did, he honestly believed, and didn't regret his choice in the least... or didn't until he fell ill. Now he was reaping the consequences of his folly and was starting to rethink his decision. _I guess it wouldn't kill me to give in once in a while. It sure doesn't make her life any easier, having me sick. Most of the kids are too young to lend her a hand and the rest don't know where to begin helping. 'Til I get better, she's gonna have to pull all the weight on her own. _Normally Father Maxwell would be around to lend the overworked nun some assistance, but there were always more deaths in winter than during the rest of the year. The cold was deadly to the old, ill, and young. His days were filled with Last Rite ceremonies and funerals. Duo didn't envy him his duties. _One of these days I'm gonna admit when I'm being a jerk and do what I'm told. My being stubborn isn't causing anything but trouble. _He shifted restlessly in his bed, peevishly shoving his sweat-soaked bangs from his eyes. '_Least I'm not in school, _he consoled himself.

Wistfully, he looked over at the empty beds lining the room's walls. All neatly made with matching sheets and woolen blankets, a single flat pillow rested against each metal headboard. The other children wouldn't be home for hours yet and Hazel, the only child too young to attend school, was ordered to stay away from him, lest she become ill as well. He had already read the few books Sister Helen had left him and knew he was in for hours of boredom. The fever had dulled his imagination, so he wasn't even offered that form of retreat. All he could do was sleep or stare blankly at the barren walls. Even the windows didn't offer any entertainment, being boarded up to keep the wind out. 

He coughed again and curled into a miserable little ball, huddling under his blankets. _I can't even complain, 'cause it's my own fault. Stupid Duo with your stupid ideas and your stupid pride and your stupid stubbornness and your stupid immune system. Can't even take care of yourself. 'Least this no one's gettin' hurt but me. _His mind always filled with images of his street days when he was sick, his ghosts of the past rising to haunt him. _Wonder if this is what Solo felt like, 'fore he died...?_

He laughed harshly. _Gettin' a little melodramatic, aren't you, Duo boy? You ain't dying. And if you were, it would serve you right. That'd teach you to disobey Sister Helen. _

He was so caught up in his thoughts, he failed to notice when the door creaked slowly open and a short figure padded towards his bed. Therefore he was quite surprised when a small voice suddenly said, "I'm hungry." His eyes sprang open and his breath caught in his chest. Several thoughts shot through his head in an instant. _What the hell?!! I should have heard an approach! I'm getting soft. _He caught a brief glimpse of Hazel's indignant form before he doubled over coughing, his eyes clouded with tears. When he finally caught his breath again, all he could do was lay limply in bed, muscles wrung out and weak. Slowly he turned his head and focused on the shivering little girl. The younger child looked at him gravely, head cocked to one side. "Sister Helen fell asleep and there's no one here to feed me. I'm hungry." She rubbed her belly pathetically.

Duo considered the situation, gauging his sapped strength. _Sister Helen told me to stay in bed, but I don't think she'd mind if I got up for just a minute. What if she's sick or hurt? What if she needs my help? Besides which, Hazel shouldn't be left unsupervised and she needs to eat. _He knew all too well what it was like to be hungry. _I *think* I can make it downstairs. I'll make her a sandwich and then find out if Sister's okay. _

Gathering himself up, he stiffly swung his legs out of bed and managed to gain his feet. Smiling weakly at Hazel, he took her hand. "Let's get you fed," he grinned. She happily skipped beside him as he headed for the stairs, one hand running along the wall for balance. 

"Can I have a jelly sandwich?" she begged, letting go of his hand to carefully descend the steps on hands and knees. Duo was tempted to try that method himself, but settled for a two-handed death-grip on the banister. 

"Yeah, sure, kiddo. You want some peanut butter with that jelly?" he asked, slightly surprised by the hoarseness of his voice. _Maybe I should go put some socks on or something._

"No! No peanut butter! Just jelly!" Hazel sternly instructed, reaching the bottom of the stairs and heading for the kitchen. _Jeez. Demanding kid! Mouth's bigger than mine._ Duo followed the imperious young girl, glancing through the rec room door as he passed by. He caught a glimpse of Sister Helen fast asleep on the battered couch, arm curled under her head. _She doesn't look sick, just tired. I guess I should just let her sleep._

"Duooo! Come feed me, please!" Hazel impatiently cried.

"I'm coming, you monster!" he muttered, resigned to playing nursemaid for a few hours despite his ill health. _I can sleep later. Right now, Sister Helen needs to nap more than I do. _

*******

It was very late. The children had long since been snuggled into their beds and all the evening chores -mopping up the bathroom, wiping down the kitchen counters, washing miscellaneous dirty dishes- had been efficiently completed. The two adults sat in the orphanage's rec room, exhaustion plainly written across both their faces. Outside the drafty windows, the manmade sky was a dark shroud over the colony. Sister Helen covered her face and cried.

From across the room, engulfed by the overstuffed and sagging armchair in which he sat, Father Maxwell watched her wretchedly. Held immobile through despair, he willed himself to rise and lend the woman some semblance of comfort. He told his legs to carry him across the bare floor, to go bolster his flagging companion with his strength. 

He remained seated in the garish chair. 

"It isn't fair! We saved for so long. We went without so much. It isn't fair," Helen sobbed, her long brown hair shimmering in the dim lamplight, for once set free from her nun's cowl. The soft waves made her look younger than her thirty years and Father Maxwell suddenly realized how very heavy her burdens must be. _Most women her age find themselves strained caring for two children. She deals with six times that number and still manages to smile. If that is not strength, I'm unsure what is._

"You know we have no choice, Helen," he uttered gruffly, surprising himself. He had not intended to speak. "If we don't buy food, there won't be any children to buy presents for."

"I.. I know. I'm being silly and impractical. It's just... every time we dare to hope, to dream a little, we're yanked so harshly back to the ground," she whispered. "Of course we will use the money to buy food. That's so much more important than some silly celebration. The children will understand. After all," she continued, speaking mostly to herself, "most of them have never celebrated Christmas anyway. What's one more year without presents..." Her empty words failed to ease the heaviness in her heart. "Yes, we will do what we must. As we always have. But just once, I wish we could give something to the children, something truly beautiful!"

Father Maxwell smiled sadly at her tear-streaked face. "The most beautiful thing we can give them, my dear friend, is love. That is more than most of them have ever known."

The Maxwell orphanage held no Christmas celebration that year.

*********

Father Maxwell wrapped his arms more firmly around the small form he held to his chest. Loosening his grip, he looked down into the boy's eyes and smiled widely. This was a good day, a good day indeed. Seldom was he so pleased to lose one of his wards. This was one adoption that felt completely right. 

"Good-bye, Joch. It was a pleasure to have you stay with us. May God go with you and your new family." He kept his farewell brief but heart-felt, knowing from experience that extended speeches would only produce tears. A well-to-do family had decided to take the lisping boy home with them, their hearts opened by his clumsy mannerisms and open face. Their judgment was not at all at fault; Father Maxwell knew Joch to be one of the gentlest children he'd ever encountered, his way with animals almost awing. He had a calm inner peace that little could shake. It was good that he would finally enjoy a steady home and Father Maxwell was pleased to send him off into such positive circumstances.

"Thank you, Father. Thank you, Sister," Joch managed, looking a bit afraid but mostly astonished. He'd never imagined that he would actually be adopted, especially by such an obviously wealthy family. It was the stuff of his dreams and now that they were coming true, it was clear he didn't know what to think. 

His new parents exchanged happy smiles and lovingly took Joch by his hands. They led him to their waiting car and helped him climb into the backseat. As the door shut, hiding Joch from view, Father Maxwell heard a sudden scuffle coming from inside the orphanage. Turning, he saw a dozen faces pressed up against the windows, all straining for one last glimpse of their companion. He searched, looking for one face in particular. His search was in vain. _Where is he? He and Joch were good friends. I thought he'd want to see him off..._ As the car pulled away and he and Sister Helen waved, he wondered why Duo had failed to wish his friend well.

"He's crying in the bathroom," Sister Helen informed him before he had a chance to ask. Allowing her hand to drop to her side, she turned towards the house, scowling at Fuzzy as she caught him licking the window pane. "He didn't know how to say good-bye." 

"Didn't know how? But surely he-" Sister Helen cut him off.

"Friends have left his life in one way and one way only: death. This is a new concept for him, that the people he cares for live on even when out of sight." With that sobering revelation, she disappeared into the orphanage, leaving him to withstand winter's cutting winds alone.

Five minutes later found him sitting on the toilet seat, Duo on his lap, holding a tissue to the boy's nose. The braided youth was still sick and his body emitted a feverish warmth that was almost uncomfortable to hold. _He should be in bed, not in this damp air._ Tossing the dirty tissue into the trash can, he slipped Duo off his lap and stood. Firmly taking the boy by his hand, he led him to the sleeping quarters, ignoring the child's protests. After lifting his slight form into bed and tucking the covers around him, Father Maxwell sat down on the mattress and met Duo's teary eyes. He was taken back by the haunted expression they held. _Eyes like that do not belong on a child._

"He'll be alright, my son. You know that, correct?" He gently brushed flopping bangs off of a pale face. Duo had features that could only be described as delicate, though his cheeks remained babyishly round despite his lack of body fat. Coupled with that cumbersome braid and thickly lashed, purplish eyes, Father Maxwell could understand exactly how prospective parents frequently mistook him for a girl. "He's been adopted, that's all."

"I know that!" Duo spat, rubbing at his eyes in irritation. "I know they ain't gonna hurt 'im. But I don't know, ya know? I don't know..." 

"Duo," Father Maxwell began, holding out another tissue. "Calm down. You're going to make yourself even sicker." Though Duo usually held his emotions firmly in check, every so often they seemed to spring loose, resisting his tight rein of control. Manifesting in verbal spats, hysterical jesting, or a frenzy of action, it was only when he was alone with his benefactors that he allowed himself to cry. _He does so hate to take off that ridiculously happy mask he's made for himself._

"I never even gotta chance to make it up to 'im!" the youth wailed, drawing his attention firmly to the present. 

The befuddled priest drew a blank. "Make what up to him for what?"

"For punchin' 'im," was the sniffled response. Flares went off in the older man's head. _Ah, yes. When Joch first arrived. He and Matt were roughhousing at the top of the stairs and Matt lost his balance and fell. He wasn't more than bumped and bruised, but when Duo found out about the accident he blamed Joch. I can still see it now. He walked straight up to him, stared right into his face, annunciated, 'screw you for messing with my family,' and smacked him hard in the eye. Joch had a black eye for weeks. When Matt defended the new boy's innocence, Duo flushed bright red and shamefacedly muttered an apology. Though Joch forgave him and they became friends, Duo always said he would find a way to make it up to the older boy. Now it's too late._

"Joch forgave you for that a long time ago, little one. He understood. He didn't leave bearing you ill will."

"That's not what I'm talkin' 'bout!" Duo's head snapped up, a glare on his face. "I lied! I said I would make it up to 'im an' I didn't! I made him a promise an' I couldn' keep it. An' now I'll never get a chance to. An' what if somethin' 'appens to 'im? What if 'e gets 'urt or sick or 'e's un'appy or gets bullied at 'is new school? Who's gonna be there for 'im? We won't even know! 'E could die and we wouldn' even know!" Duo was fast losing coherency. Father Maxwell had never seen him in such a state. His stomach lurched as he realized that Duo was directing his overwhelming fear and rage not at the priest or Joch, but at himself.

"Oh, child," Father Maxwell felt suddenly very old. With infinite compassion, he pulled the crying boy onto his lap, gently rubbing the heaving back. "You are far too young to worry about such things."

"B-but if I don', who will?" Duo whispered, hiccupping a bit.

Suddenly he found himself on familiar ground. "God will worry, my son. Whenever we find our worries are too much for us to carry, we can hand them to God. He will carry them for us until we feel able to take them on once more."

"Bullshit!" Duo swore. He pushed away from the protective grip and sat back on his heels, eyes blazing. " 'E doesn' care! 'E takes one person's worries an' then shoves 'em on someone else! 'E's sneaky! 'E says 'e's helpin' but all 'e does is make you forget an' get weak! An' then bad things 'appen! I don' trust 'im!"

Father Maxwell found himself speechless. He recalled Duo's words from another occasion: _I've never seen a miracle, but I've sure seen a lot of dead people! _The child claimed to believe only in the God of Death._ How can I make him understand? How can I give him faith when all he does is make me question my own?_ "You're sick, Duo. Why don't you focus on getting well for now and we'll continue this discussion later?" He needed time to think, to prepare his arguments. To gather his thoughts. To secure his own faith in God.

He was not to have it. Someone else had different plans.

"I am sick! Sick of bein' lied to! No one ever tells me the truth! You keep sayin', it'll get better and it's all in God's plan. You keep tellin' me to believe in 'is power an' 'is might. All I see is a mighty powerful pile of crap! Your whole religion's a lie! A lie that comforts fools!" Duo collapsed sobbing into his pillow, ribs shaking underneath his worn flannel pajamas. 

The elderly priest sat silently for a long time, watching as the sobs slowly ceased and the breathing gradually evened out. _Patience, Father. Allow him to compose himself. He needs to be calm if he is to understand your words. _Then and only then, he slowly spoke, picking his way with the utmost care. 

"A lie is only a lie when it's one sided, Duo. When both sides believe in something, it's no longer a lie but a created reality. It no longer matters if it's true or not. If there's faith, there's truth. My religion may seem a lie to you, but that's only because you do not believe. I can't force you to find faith in God, but I can ask that you show respect for those who do." He paused. 

"Faith is a funny thing, child. It's difficult to find and very easy to lose. Often times people need physical objects to remind them of their faith. Unless they can touch it, they easily forget it is real." He loosened his collar and pulled his crucifix from beneath his black shirt. 

"That is why I wear this. It is a reminder of my faith, something that I can hold when I feel myself weakening and losing sight of God." He unfastened the gold chain with steady fingers. "I want you to have it, Duo. I am an old man. If I have not learned faith by now, it is unlikely I ever will. It is time to pass this on to someone who has use for it." He gently laid the crucifix on the pillow, next to Duo's fraying braid. "Keep this safe, little one. Faith is a precious gift and I fear there isn't much left in this world." He patted Duo's shoulder gently. 

"We can choose to forge our souls any way we please. Some people chose to use bitterness as their hammer. Others choose fear. Still others choose love. And then there are those that choose faith. The first creates nothing but pain. The second causes inaction. The third is empty and unfulfilling. But the last... the last lends the soul hope and dreams, strength and stability. It is the best choice to make, but it is also the hardest to keep. Yet that is the choice I wish for you." He quietly stood to go, not knowing what else to say. _I fear I have failed. Dear God, please lend me strength._

"Wait!" Duo sprang suddenly upright, small hand clutching after his. His face was flushed and splotchy, eyes red-rimmed and nose raw. He looked a mess. He looked disreputable. He looked... repentant. "I... I'm sorry I said that, Father Maxwell. I didn't mean it." His voice was low and he refused to look up from the floor. "I want to believe. I really, really do. But it's so hard."

The man smiled gently and sat back down, allowing Duo to climb into his lap and lean against his shoulder. Carefully, he lifted the cross from the pillow and fastened it around Duo's neck. He smiled as the boy looked at it in wonder, bony hand touching it gently. Father Maxwell drew the blankets up around the small body even as he held it close to his heart. "You've had a hard life, I know. Harder than most can imagine. Sometimes, though, even the toughest of people need a little help. Wanting to believe is the first step. Who better to turn to than the Ultimate Being? Who can better understand than the Creator himself?"

Duo didn't respond and he realized that the boy had fallen asleep, completely exhausted by his tantrum. 

The small gold cross glittered in the morning light.

__

******

"You forgot your hat!" Lexie scampered to catch up with him, tiny shoes tapping against the synthetic ground, and thrust the gray cap into his hand. "Sister told me to make sure you wore it. She said she'd give me a cookie if I did a good job. But you have to wear it to _and _from school. Please wear the hat, Duo! The cookies are chocolate chip this time!" Her anxiety was plainly written in each sparkling brown eye.

"Well, who am I to deprive a cute kid of her cookie?" Shifting his school books [4] to one hand, Duo pulled the wool hat over his hair, blinded for a second as his bangs were flattened into his eyes. He tucked the unruly locks under the cap's brim and grinned at the five year old girl walking beside him. "Betcha I look like the beastly soldier men now, huh?" Lexie giggled, swinging her books by their leather strap. 

"No! You look like a girl!" She shrieked at her daring, darting quickly ahead of him, fearful that her taunt would result in retaliation. Her precautions were needless. Not feeling up to a chase, he watched as her twin pigtails bobbed simultaneously as she ran further ahead down the street.

"Yeah, a girl who's much prettier than you, so there!" He called after her. Lexie paused, turned, and stuck out her tongue before continuing her run towards the school. 

"You're going to be late!" Her little voice drifted back to him, tossed over her shoulder as she ran. It was quite obvious she intended to be on time.

"I would've been early if someone hadn't hidden my shoes!" he hollered half-heartedly at her back, not really expecting her to pay any attention. She surprised him again. Once more she stopped her flight, pivoting on her heel until she directly faced him. Her lips curled into a sinister grin as, with all the delicacy and precision of a practiced pickpocket, she flipped him the bird. Without waiting to see his reaction, she took off once again.

"Give them an inch and they walk all over you," he mumbled to himself, breath making puffs of smoke in the cold air. Holding his books to his chest with both hands, he continued trudging towards the school alone.  


********

Winter ended as abruptly as it had begun. Duo's cough gradually faded as the warm air set in. Sister Helen stopped fearing the cold would snatch the children's lives. Fuzzy grew another inch. Father Maxwell noticed a few more gray hairs. A new orphan arrived and little Hazel was adopted. Allie started noticing girls, particularly eleven-year-old Beth. The thaw had started and all were more than ready to cast off their heavy clothes and chafing mental burdens.

"I finished sweeping, Sister! Is there anything else you need me to do?" Duo stood peering earnestly up at her, a broom almost as tall as he was held firmly in his hands. He must have been nearly ten, as close as anyone could guess, yet still remained as diminutive in stature as a seven year old. Still, what he lacked in size he more than made up for in personality. _So small, but so driven. Would that all the children had that attitude. This place would be spic and span in no time at all. _She could tell from his eyes that he was tired, yet he remained more than determined to lighten his overworked caregiver's tasks. _I just don't understand this child,_ she admitted to herself.

"Everyone does what they can," he'd said earlier with a cock-eyed grin. "Right now all the others can do is roll around outside like little kids. Sure, I'd rather be with them than dusting the knickknacks, but that's what I _want_. Help is what you _need_. Besides which, I've been here so long I know what needs to get done as well as you do! And I also know it's too much for one little nun-lady to handle all by her lonesome. So here I am!" He'd confidently spread his arms wide, eager to embrace all she would throw at him. She knew a good offer when she heard one and quickly delegated a number of chores that desperately needed to be done, along with instructions to stop if he got tired. With an energy she envied, he bustled off to his work. She'd sat down to the ever-present mending, resolute she would repair all the winter clothes before they were stashed away to await the day they would be useful again.

The morning had passed quickly and then she found herself regarding Duo once more, the boy liberally covered in dirt smears and dust. She noted with satisfaction that he'd had the good sense to tuck his braid into his shirt, protecting it from the worst of the filth. _Good. We don't have enough water to keep that mop of hair clean. _The snow they'd melted over the winter was already running low and she knew Father Maxwell would soon have to dip into their meager coffer to buy more water. They needed to drink and eat. _I don't know how we got through the cold season intact, but somehow we managed it. Thank God for miracles._

"That's all the major chores for today, little Duo, but why don't you go outside and brush yourself off? I have one small task remaining that I'd like you to help me with." Duo nodded, propping the broom up in its habitual corner. _Attention to detail. _She listened as he walked down the hall, stopping briefly at the door to tie his shoes on before going outside. _Methodical in his actions._ Sister Helen put down the mitten she was darning and stood. Crossing the hallway to the small rec room, she peered at the barren shelves, straining to read the titles of the few ragged books the orphanage possessed. Most were meant for children, naturally, but there were a couple that she and Father Maxwell indulged in when they had a spare moment. _Now, where did that one novel get to...?_ She considered her limited choices carefully before pulling down a thick, worn book. Hastily, she returned to the kitchen and placed the volume on the table, taking her seat as Duo came through the doorway. _Made it._

"What's up, Sister?" He casually leaned against the wall, too-thin arms crossed negligently on his chest. His clothing looked a great deal cleaner, but there was still a smudge of something running across his cheek. "You're looking a tad on the flushed side. Need me to unclog the toilet or something?"

"Not at all. Quite the opposite in fact," she smiled. _Tread carefully, Helen. _"Sewing is a rather mundane task, even for a woman such as myself. I would be pleased if you'd read aloud to me for a while. It would help break the monotony." 

"Shoot, Sister! Do I have to?" he looked uncomfortable, suddenly shifting his weight from foot to foot. She lowered her eyes firmly to her needle, weaving the yarn firmly into place as she drew the mitten's hole closed.

"No, you don't have to, but it would make me very happy." _Let me give you this small reward for all you do. _

"It's not some stupid girl book, is it?" The voice was sullen.

"I wouldn't call it that, no." _Anything but!_

There was a pause. "Is it okay if I do all the voices?"

She laughed in spite of herself. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

She practically could feel the moment his vivaciousness snapped back into place. "Hold onto your habit, 'cause here we go!" He picked up the book and slouched into a chair, propping his feet up on the table. She cleared her throat and he quickly removed the offensive intruders, grinning apologetically in her direction. He cracked the cover and cleared his throat.

" 'On an exceptionally hot evening early in July a young man came out of the garret in which he lodged in S. Palace and walked slowly, as though in hesitation, towards K. bridge...' " [5]

*********

"You have my sincere apologies. I regret this has happened. He will most certainly be dealt with appropriately at home," Father Maxwell assured the school principal, shaking the irate woman's hand. 

"This is the last time I'll be lenient, Father," she warned. "I cannot have him disrupting my classrooms any longer. It's not fair to expect Ms. Kreuz to deal with his behavior problems and it's not fair to the other children, either. They cannot learn if their lessons are constantly being interrupted by his tantrums. He needs strict discipline, not prayers. I expect you to treat this matter very seriously. Believe me when I say, the situation is very serious indeed." Her icy gray eyes met his, accentuating her words.

"Thank you, Mrs. Burns, for your trust. I assume we may go now...?" He didn't like this stiff woman, with her double-edged words and her piercing gaze. _Dear Lord, please keep me from passing judgment on those surrounding me. _He especially didn't care for the condescending tone of voice she'd taken with him. _Does no one have respect these days? This woman expects to be treated with the utmost esteem, yet regards those around her like servants. Peace cannot be found in hypocrisy._

She flicked her hand dismissively. "Yes, you may leave. Remember, he is not to return for a week. We must give tempers time to cool."

"I will remember. Come, Duo," Father Maxwell instructed, leading the indignant child from Mrs. Burns' office. _I have to get him home before I say something I regret. _The two walked side by side down the school's sterile halls, speaking nary a word until they reached the exit, each lost in their own thoughts. Yet their feet had barely touched the sidewalk when words seemed to physically burst from Duo's throat.

"I hate that damned harpy! I ain't never goin' back there! Never! Blaming that whole mess on me! _He _was the one who started it! Pulling my hair and calling me a girl every time the teacher wasn't looking! Just look what he did! He dipped my braid in glue! Glue! And not that crappy white kind they use in art class! The good stuff! That stuff you used to glue the Jesus statue back together that time Matt broke it! It ain't never gonna wash out! I'm gonna have to _cut _my _hair_! Of _course _I decked him one! Jeez, you'd think he'd have learned by now that you do _not _mess with me, not unless you gotta death wish!"

__

Such fury! I almost pity the other boy. Facing this formidable whirlwind must have been no small feat. He looks rather intimidating when he's like this. His mind suddenly barked a laugh. _That furious expression makes his braid even more incongruous than usual! _The thin man patiently waited for Duo's rage to run its course. It didn't take long. The boy was too good natured to stay angry at anything for more than a brief moment... although he could hold a grudge indefinitely. It was only a matter of minutes before the child stopped ranting and regained control over his emotions. He stood panting for a few seconds, fist still clenched, before relaxing his bunched shoulders and allowing his arms to drop loosely to his sides. _The maelstrom is over. Now we face the aftermath._

"I... I'm sorry you had to apologize for me again, Father," Duo said in a small voice, sounding very ashamed indeed. _And enter the guilt. He tries to carry far too much responsibility on his shoulders. I do wish he'd laugh more often._

"Oh, little one..." Father Maxwell firmly took that tiny hand in his and began walking slowly back to the orphanage. "How many times do I have to tell you? I won't ever mind apologizing for you so long as you do your best. That's all I ask. I'll apologize three times a day if I have to, so long as you never give up trying."

Duo sniffled. "I just hate to see you lower yourself for them, Father! It's not right! People like that don't deserve an apology, especially from someone like you." His hand tightened convulsively._ I promise I'll won't let you go, have no fear. You will never face this cruel world alone, so long as I live._

"We all must compromise, child, sometimes even at the cost of pride. Sometimes we must hurt ourselves to help others. But in the end, wouldn't refusing to help at all hurt the most?"

"I guess that makes sense. That doesn't mean I have to like it, though," came the sullen reply. "I'd rather die fighting than surrender, but I guess sometimes when we fight, we hurt our friends more than our enemies, huh?"

"That's right." They walked in silence for a ways, the priest marveling at the wisdom possessed by so young a mind. _With the proper training, he could be the greatest priest L2 has ever known._

"I don't think I deserve your cross anymore," Duo suddenly spoke up, sounding serious even for him. He seemed near tears again. "It didn't remind me to be faithful. It didn't make me patient and understanding. I failed you. I was bad and sinful. And if _your _cross didn't help me be good, I don't know what will."

"You didn't fail me," the priest denied, feeling his heart thud dully in his chest. _He tries so hard and yet still believes he disappoints me. How can I help him trust me?_ "You could never fail me. Not even if you tried! You can only do what's right for Duo and if that sometimes means you act a little sinfully, so be it. I'll believe in you regardless." He paused before forging on. "I think that maybe the cross just isn't the right help for you. Maybe it wasn't a large enough reminder," he suggested gently. "Perhaps we need to start with something a bit easier to keep in mind? Something that's harder to forget about than a tiny charm?"

Duo wiped his eyes on his sleeve. "Like what?"

"I'm not certain. We'll have to see what makes itself known."

********

"That is the third set of clothes you've ruined this month! What am I going to do with you?" 

Sister Helen was beside herself with aggravation. Parents' Day was at the end of the week and the child who was in direst need of a home seemed determined to make himself as unattractive as possible. The boy had gotten into yet another fight at school that resulted in quite the lovely black eye. He'd also somehow managed to get glue in his hair and had torn yet another outfit completely beyond repair.

__

How does he get himself into these scrapes? It's as though he goes looking for trouble these days! He causes a fuss, comes home with his tail between his legs, acts repentant as anything, and then the second we forgive him he runs off to do it again! He says he's defending us from the outside world. I'm not certain what he means, precisely, but I do know this has to stop. How can I get it through his thick skull that he doesn't need to defend us with his fists?! 

"I don't think we have any clothes left that will fit you. We're going to have to cut up bed sheets just so you aren't indecent when the parents arrive!" She threw up her hands in exasperation.

"I'm sorry," Duo said in a small voice. "I guess maybe I don't deserve to be adopted."

Her heart lurched in her chest. _Gracious, what have I said? He doesn't mean to be a bother. He just... draws catastrophe to him like a moth to a flame._ "I... I didn't mean that, Duo. I'm sorry. I'm just frustrated, that's all. Even nuns get in bad moods at times."

He looked at her sideways. "You don't have to tell _me _that." And she was forgiven, simple as that. _This child, for all his wild ways, never ceases to humble me._

She smiled. "Come, let's see if we can't dig up something decent for you to wear." She led the way to the basement steps. 

A futile search found them sitting across from one another at the kitchen table, staring blankly into each other's eyes. "What now?" Duo asked, fidgeting with the gaping hold in the knee of his pants.

"I'm not certain. This has never happened before. I suppose I'll have to buy something..." _This never *has* happened before, but never have we had such a shuffle of children. They no sooner arrive than they are adopted, taking our clothes along with them. We don't have enough money to buy new garments, but I don't see much alternative. We certainly can't count on any timely donations, not with war threatening to break._

"Is there a problem, you two?" Father Maxwell's deep voice inquired from the hall. Finished with the afternoon services, he'd returned to the orphanage for a quick lunch only to find the despondent pair frowning with worry. _This doesn't look promising. _He entered the room and pulled up a chair at the table, loosening his priest's collar ever so slightly as he settled. "Why the long faces?"

"I mussed my clothes up good and now I'm might have to go naked. Sister ran out of stuff I can fit into, " Duo explained point blank. "I _told _her not to worry about it, but she still is. The way I see it, I've been a beggar since I came to this church, living off donations and all. I figure it's about time I look like what I am, but _she _won't listen to me." He looked accusingly at the nun.

"I don't know what to do, Father!" she explained in exasperation. "I can't possibly fix _those _holes and we have nothing else for him to wear! I can't let him walk around like some tatterdemalion, but we can't afford to buy anything new. I'm at a loss!"

"That _is _a problem," he admitted, fingers still tugging at his binding collar. Abruptly, his hand froze. "However, I think I see a solution." He turned to meet Duo's purplish eyes, meeting his gaze as a peer, not as an adult. "I think your reminder may have presented itself," he said cryptically. "I'll return shortly." He left the room without another word.

Sister Helen looked wonderingly at the wide-eyed orphan. "What could he possibly have meant? What reminder? Duo?" She watched as a grin slowly spread across his bruised face, his fingers clutching at something beneath his tattered shirt. "Duo?"

"Do you think you can cut this down to his size, Sister?" Father Maxwell suddenly asked behind her, holding a set of his black priest garments in his arms. 

Astonished, she gaped even as her ears registered Duo's delighted laugh. 

********

Parents' Day was a huge success. Prospective men and women began arriving at the orphanage's door by midmorning. By dinner time, fully half the orphans had found new families, taken away to homes all across the colony. Even Fuzzy was chosen, selected by a big brute of a man who was full of ideas of football games and sports teams. Yet for every happy match there remained an unclaimed child, a small soul ill prepared to deal with the pain of rejection. That night as Sister Helen and Father Maxwell tucked their charges into their beds, tears were visible on each disappointed visage.

"I hate it!" Beth sobbed. "It's like we're not even people! It's like they're shopping for fruit and we're the smushy bruised ones! No one will ever choose us!"

"It wuzzn't so bad, 'cept they frowned. If they'd at least _smiled _I wouldn'ta cared so much," Dan growled, hands clenched into fists at his sides.

"But I'm a good girl! I'm good!" Lexie wailed. "Why didn't they want me? I'm good!"

"I don't care. Who wants a stupid family anyway?" sniffed Barnaby contemptuously, saving his tears for after the lights went out.

"I thought they were going to choose me. Then they picked Riley. I thought they were going to choose me..." Fitz whispered.

Each child was soothed with gentle hugs and understanding words. The priest and the nun moved from bed to bed, tucking in covers and fluffing up pillows. They did their utmost to make each young heart feel important and wanted, cherished and loved. They tried their best to fill the void in each young life, poignantly recognizing their inability to be heal those fragile, broken dreams, yet always striving to try.

"No one ever chooses me. I've been here three years now. I've smiled and smiled and I'm _still _passed up. And even when I do get picked, they just send me right back. No one else has been here this long. Everyone else finds homes and families. They all find people to love them. What's wrong with me? Why can't I be loved?" 

That was the hardest question to resolve, for there was truth in Duo's broken words. None of his adoptive families ever had come to love him, always returning him to the orphanage within a week. They would seem slightly disconcerted by the small boy, whispering that he was too old to be a child, were they sure he wasn't a midget? "I wanted a son, not a father," one woman had said before breaking the adoption.

Eyes that had seen too much, a mind that saw too clearly. These were Duo's burdens to bear. Yet his statements had not been completely true. There was one thing in which he was mistaken...

"Come here, little Duo," Sister Helen held her arms open, allowing her now-admittedly favorite orphan to lean into her embrace. "Don't ever believe that you aren't loved. Father Maxwell and I love you, more than we can say." She hugged him tight, feeling his tears soak through her sleeve. "How can you ever wish to fit in anywhere else? You don't need to. You belong right here. You are part of the Maxwell Church family and no one can ever take that from you."

"Really?" came the watery voice. "So you're like my mother and Father Maxwell is my dad? And the church is my house?"

"That's right, Duo," Father Maxwell stroked the long, unruly hair. "We'll never make you go to Parents' Day again unless you want to. This is your home. You don't have to leave here unless you decide to."

"I have a home?" Duo raised his head and stared at them with glistening, awe-struck eyes. 

"Yes, little Duo. Welcome home." They smiled together as an ecstatic grin spread across Duo's face. 

*********

Another year passed and many orphans came and went, their numbers increased by the hostile Oz occupation of the colony. The galaxy was preparing for war and the coming years promised to be filled with hardship and strife. Yet even as tensions increased outside the orphanage, within its walls all was bright with hope, lit by the spirit of a very special boy. Since finding his home, Duo had flourished. Never had Sister Helen seen such a happy child. Gone was that painfully thin mask of cheer. The Maxwell Church's resident orphan had finally found where he belonged and his glowing smile showed he knew it. His newly-found passion for life was contagious and it wasn't long before his zealous joy infected those around him.

As they stood side by side at the kitchen counter, pounding sticky dough into loaves of bread, Sister Helen found herself beaming at _her _boy. The imp returned her grin promptly, never pausing in his task. Flour was speckled across his rosy cheeks and it was evident that he'd wiped his hands across his black pant legs. He continued to dressed in Father Maxwell's castoffs, despite the ridiculousness of such holy garments on a child. Neither she nor the priest had the heart to refuse, not when the clothes so obviously made Duo happy.

"After this it's straight outside to brush off," she laughed. "I think you have more flour on you than the bread does!"

"You're none too clean yourself, lady," Duo snickered, pointing a dusty finger at the back of her habit. She twisted her head and saw two small handprints on her rump.

"Well, I'll be!" she marveled. "I didn't even know I'd done it! ...... Say, wait a minute! Those are too small to be from my hands! Duo!"

But the wily prankster had already slipped from the room, the echo of his laughter all that remained. Shaking her head, she returned to her baking, unable to keep a smile from her lips.

"May laughter warm your heart each day of your life," she murmured to herself. "Never let anyone steal your happiness, Duo."

Pressed tightly against the wall to the left of the kitchen door, safely hidden from Sister Helen's view, Duo smiled to himself. "I never will, Sister. You have my promise."

Three hours later Oz soldiers kicked down the orphanage door.

-**Fin-**

Footnotes:

[1] "Yes, yes. I'm sorry. Bread and butter mother, please. Straight ahead!"

[2] "... beware of dog?"

[3] Language lessons would, I assume, be of great use in a globalized world such as Duo lives in. German is a root language, as is Latin, so I chose those two as logical choices for basic education. Most modern languages are derivatives of these two.

[4] I know, I know. Books were supposedly a rarity. However, L2 was a poor colony and it is unlikely laptops could be provided for every student. Notebooks would be a cheaper and more accessible option. Besides which, if they had the technology to build Gundams, why couldn't they create affordable, synthetic paper, in which case there would be no shortage at all?

[5] From "Crime and Punishment," by Dostoevesky. It is perhaps my favorite novel and has been since I was twelve. It's as excellent a work as I've ever read and contains a protagonist that could justifiably be compared to Duo. I think he'd commiserate rather strongly with Raskolnikov: "He was flinging himself on his knees to pray, but broke into laughter -not at the idea of prayer, but at himself." Since it's a classic book that deals with the concept of higher morality, it would seem likely that a priest would own it, too. 

****

'^ . **^'**


	2. Bridge

The Maxwell Church Tragedy took place in AC191. Tired of enduring what they perceived as the Earth's tyranny, colony rebels launched an assault against a Federation base on L2. Their initial attack was overwhelmed and they took shelter in the nearby Maxwell Church to regroup. This was where Federation soldiers and Oz Special Forces found them a few hours later. The church was destroyed in the resulting struggle and all of its residents were killed. The death toll numbered 245, including the priest, the nun, and the 12 orphans who had once lived there in peace. However, contrary to common knowledge, there was a single survivor....


	3. Becoming Shinigami

Thank you to the wonderful people who reviewed! 

Disclaimer: Still not mine. 

Author's Notes: Begins about six months after the Maxwell Church Tragedy. This is a much darker Duo than in "Soul Forge." His sanity, which was rather unstable to begin with, has been buried with Father Maxwell and Sister Helen. Whether he regains it once more remains to be seen; perhaps once the war is over he will finally be able to heal.

Note about the timeline: According to "Episode Zero," Duo enters the Maxwell Orphanage when he's seven and the Tragedy occurs a year later. The story then skips ahead nearly a decade, beginning again when Duo stows away on Dr. J's ship at the age of fourteen. I've tweaked things a bit and with good reason. In my fics, Duo is ten/eleven when the church is destroyed. (Slight spoiler for story to come!!) I leave him in the Federation Prison for about a year, meeting up with Dr. J when he's about twelve. This leaves three years for him to train with his Gundam before the start of the series storyline. Why have I made these adjustments? Well, the cut and dry answer is that the creator's timeline is just unreasonable. Duo grew up on the streets, without a possession to call his own. You mean to tell me that he met up with Dr. J at age fourteen and was able, within less than a year, to not only learn to shoot a variety of guns with expert precision, but also how to make complicated bombs, expertly pilot a mobile suit, fully master navigation and fighting techniques, learn to use complicated equipment, AND be battle-trained? That seems a bit unrealistic. I think even three years is cutting it a little close, but felt that was the biggest change I could make and still maintain the basic integrity of the storyline. I'm going for canon, here.

Warnings: STRONG language, implied rape and violence. I wanted to keep it PG, but when you're dealing with such nasty subject matter, it gets a little tough.

****

Soul Forge II

__

Intellectual disgrace

Stares from every human face,

And the seas of pity lie

Locked and frozen in each eye.

Follow, poet, follow right

To the bottom of the night,

With your unconstraining voice

Still persuade us to rejoice.

With the farming of a verse

Make a vineyard of the curse,

Sing of human unsucess

In a rapture of distress;

In the deserts of the heart

Let the healing fountain start,

In the prison of his days

Teach the free man how to praise.

-W.H. Auden, "In Memory of W.B. Yeats"

The Federation had kept its security woven tightly around the building, sealing it from inquiring eyes until the evidence of their criminal actions had been removed. The bodies were dragged off to an undisclosed location, rifle cartridges were policed up, and bullets were dug out of the walls. A constant stream of high ranking officers flowed in and out of the church doors, their objectives unknown but their intent glaringly obvious: the Federation had committed a grievous error. When they'd subdued the rebellious colonists, they hadn't counted on civilian casualties, especially people of the cloth. Intentional or not, the deaths of the church's residents were unforgivable in the eyes of the colony and they now faced the daunting task of repairing their tattered public image. It was time to begin making amends, endearing themselves to the galaxy once more, securing their place in the political food chain. It was time to begin weaving their thick blanket of lies. Public announcements flooded the airwaves, offering enticing lies of reassurance and regret. 

"We of the Federation are human, the same as every one of you. As men we are necessarily fallible. We commit mistakes and make faulty judgments, occasionally with dire consequences. This is part of what makes us human. We are not perfect. Our actions at the Maxwell Church were inexcusable, but they have served to make us aware of our weaknesses. They have shown us our flaws and swift action has been taken to ensure events such as these will never happen again. We of the Federation are human, and we mourn alongside every one of you...." 

At first, with the jarring reality of the massacre still fresh in their minds, the citizens of L2 had been gripped by an incessant need to pay homage to those lost. They flocked from all over the colony to express their respect and satisfy their curiosity, cameras dangling from their hands and intoxicating horror running through their veins. They pressed up against the hastily erected military blockades, leaving behind bunches of flowers and securing anti-rebellion fliers to the barrier walls.

What they had forgotten in life now fascinated them in death.

As time progressed, the novelty of the catastrophe wore off and the throngs of oglers gradually diminished. They retreated to their respective lives, leaving the reek of decaying blossoms and an atmosphere of desolation as their legacy. The streets, once pulsating with indignation and outrage, once more flowed with indifference and disregard. The Federation, finished with their operations, abandoned the premises, their barriers still segregating the church from the outside world. The violated holy grounds were left vacant, an ominous precursor to the war that would soon follow... a symbol that went largely unnoticed. 

***************

It was night when he made his return. He slunk down the street in silence, shadows hugging his frame like a second skin. The sickly glow of the streetlights tarnished his flesh a jaundiced gold as he passed, revealing a motley of abrasions and contusions. His hands were tucked into his armpits for warmth, the white fog of his breath dissipating quickly into the dark winter air. He plodded along as though without direction, as if whim were his compass and chance his map. Though his head was down-turned, flopping bangs hiding his face from sight, his eyes darted about nervously, taking note of his surroundings, marking any movements. He was uncannily alert, alive with animal instinct, his body vibrating with tension . 

The diminutive figure drew even with the empty shell of the church, pausing for a moment alongside the barbed wire and concrete barriers. The shadows fell more thickly there, as though even the light was reluctant to span the void that surrounded the building. Standing in a pool of black, the boy abruptly halted to stare with vacant eyes at the former religious institution. He seemed to consider, then, slipping a hand underneath his shirt, the boy drew a pair of wire cutters from his waistband. Appraising the fence with an expert eye, he examined the wire for weaknesses, weighing the pros and cons of various locations. Selecting a spot that was partially hidden from the street by an overflowing dumpster, the boy carefully snipped wires in half, patiently carving a small hole in the razor-sharp fence. Using the cutters to peel the fence back, he gained entrance to the church grounds and carefully wiggled his way through the opening. After prodding the wires back into position, creating a semblance of solidarity, he quickly darted towards the church door, eyes constantly checking for witnesses.

He reached the solid church doors and fell to his knees, taking shelter in the shadow thrown by the heavy stone walls. A cast-iron padlock held the main doors shut, a stray beam of light sparking off its polished surface. The boy regarded it for a moment, his trained eye making note of its make and construction. His arm snaked over his shoulder and caught up his unnaturally stiff braid, pulling it forward across his chest. Delicately picking through the chestnut strands, careful not to snag any of the hairs free, he extricated a set of lock picks. Creeping forward on hands and knees, the youth made quick work of the padlock and tucked his tools safely back into his thick plait. Pulling the opened lock swiftly free, he hefted the heavy cross beam, barely managing to lift it from its brackets. Finally, his hands sweaty with tension, he pushed the door open and entered the church. His feet whispered over the threshold and he shut the door with finality behind him.

Once inside, the boy paused for a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. He was aware that the church's interior felt somehow wrong, the air seeming both strangely alive and disturbingly dead. He stiffly anticipated the reuse of his eyes. When his sight returned a moment later, it was accompanied by a loud gasp. Visibly shaking, the thin form dropped bonelessly to the floor in shock.

He'd expected damage. He'd seen it himself before the Federation soldiers swarmed around him and placed him under arrest. He knew that the interior wouldn't be the same, but he hadn't expected this... this... _rape _of his former home.

The church had been completely gutted. The rubble, naturally, had been cleared away, but the efforts had not ceased there. The golden candlesticks and tabernacle, the few lonely statues, all had been removed, shipped to another location or forever lost to someone's personal bank account. The pews, the confessionals, the altar furniture, the religious fixtures, it had all disappeared. The threadbare carpet had been ripped up and the candelabrum torn down. Even the receptacles that had held holy water were removed, their former locations marked only by slight discolorations on the walls. But worst of all was the window. 

Father Maxwell had saved for years, cutting corners and counting pennies whenever he could, daring to dream that one day he'd have enough funds to order a stained glass window from a craftsman on Earth. His efforts had seemed futile, at first, yet the day had come when his goal was achieved. 

He claimed it was his only bit of pride, that window. Not because it was one of a kind -which it was- or even because he had single-handedly managed to purchase it -which he had. No, his pride stemmed from the beauty that the window gave to his barren church, the wonder it instilled in the eyes of those who saw it. His pride stemmed not from what the window brought to himself, but what it gave to others.

Now it was gone and nothing but standard glass panes hung in its void, its once-striking hues replaced with cheap memories. The church remained, but its heart was forever lost.

It was nearly light when the boy finally raised his body from the floor, his movements stiff and forced. He tread hesitantly forward, eyes trained on the floor. Stealing up the aisle, he came to a halt before the altar. A dark stain could be seen marring the floor, marking the place where Father Maxwell's blood had soaked through the carpet.

With tentative motions, the boy knelt down and reached forward with reverent hands. He laid his palms flat in the heart of the stain, tense fingers spread wide. Slowly, he leaned forward, resting his forehead against the backs of his hands.

"I'm home, Father," Duo whispered. "I've come home."

***********

They let him free without warning. He'd been lying on the narrow cot in his cell, staring numbly at the dented metal walls, when the echoing thud of footsteps first met his ears. He'd slowly turned his head, pressing his ear to the cold steel surface of his "bed," where he could better hear the reverberations shooting through the metal. He let his eyes slide closed as he realized there were three sets of footsteps and all were fast approaching his cell. But their purpose hadn't been what he'd suspected.... A pile of clothing had been thrown at his face and two battered boots had fallen to the floor with twin clangs.

"Your term is up. Get up and get out. And if I ever see your punk face again, it had best be in the obituary section of the newspaper."

He'd spent his first night as a free man wandering the streets aimlessly, but had little recollection of what he'd done or where he'd gone. Life, which had stood still for so long, was now a notion unconceivable. The fragile stability he'd once briefly possessed had yet again been stolen and his mind was left a blur. Everything was shattered, including his faith in himself. He felt ungrounded, as though he were drifting aimlessly through time without reason.

The dark cycle gradually slipped by and the artificial sun began to sputter into life. 

He'd come to his senses of a sudden in broad daylight, standing stalk still in the middle of a sidewalk, people flowing around him as though he were a rock in a stream.

He'd felt more like a pebble in a river. A grain of sand in the ocean.

As the bodies had pressed up against him, brushing by him on all sides, jostling him so he almost fell, he suddenly couldn't draw breath. There were all these people, all these lives, these faces, these minds, these souls, these bundles of flesh, these grinning skulls, these jangling skeletons... they were all over him, violating him, threatening his existence without even knowing he was there. 

He thought he'd screamed. He wasn't certain. When he'd returned to himself once more he was holed up in a corner in a narrow alley, half-concealed by bags of garbage and flaking cardboard boxes. 

For his long year of imprisonment, through all the shame and embarrassment, the pain and guilt, the regret and anxiety, a single voice had run through his mind. So strong, so powerful were its words that he heard its words even while he slept. They were with him always, never letting him rest, never granting him peace. They were his burden. They were branded on his soul.

"God Bless you and may he keep you ...."

He would have given anything to be able to trade his life for hers.

Dragging himself to his feet, he brushed the dirt from his clothes, the once black outfit now faded to a dull gray. Steadying his stance, he turned his feet in the direction of the Maxwell Church.

***********

The two guards stood outside the cell, bored. They were supposed to be guarding the prisoner, who was deemed "high risk," but in their opinion the assignment was pointless. As the clock ticked on, minds were wandering.

"You sure you didn't piss off someone, Amhurst?" the shorter man grunted. Slinging his gun over his shoulder, he rubbed his biceps, muscles aching from long hours of holding the rifle in assault position. "You musta pissed _someone _off for us to get this shit detail."

"I told you, Tiverton, _I _ain't done nothing! Maybe if you hadn't spilt coffee all over the Commander's desk, we'd be home right now!" Amhurst retorted, glaring. His own arms were a bit on the sore side, too, but he'd be damned if he let Tiverton see that.

"It ain't home I want to be, asshole! Did you see the way that blonde was looking at me at the bar the other night? Shit, man, she was practically all over me!" The skinny redhead leered.

" 'Practically,' being the key word," grunted Amhurst. "You were a customer, douchebag, of course she was being friendly!"

"That ain't the point! The point is that I should be out having fun, not standing here with some shit-for-brains asswipe, guarding some kid. I mean, look at him! He doesn't even blink for Christ sake!"

"I have to be an asswipe, to put up with your crap. And shut your mouth. Last thing we need is for some fucking officer to put us on report."

"Yeah, yeah. Big freaking whoop. What are they gonna do, make us baby-sit the General's grandkids? Come on, Amhurst, even you have to admit this is crazy! What's he gonna do? Stare his way through the walls?"

They turned to examine the cause of their plight. Indeed, the prisoner looked anything but threatening. He sat on the cold floor of his cell, curled into a fetal position, knees clenched tightly to his torso. He was dressed in a too-large prison uniform, its sleeves and pant legs cuffed sloppily up. His feet were bare; the heavy boots he had arrived with deemed weapons due to their thick laces and rugged soles. A thick braid of hair was draped over his shoulder, but it was beginning to fray. The hair tie had been removed along with the boots, some safety fanatic declaring it a security threat.

The Federation could be anal about things like that.

Inanely enough, the boy wore a black baseball cap atop his head. At some point during the boy's imprisonment, a guard had grown weary of enduring his perpetual blank stare. It could be unnerving, feeling those unblinking dark eyes boring into one's back for hours on end. Finally the guard had had enough and, breaking orders and entering the cell, had shoved his own hat onto the child's head, pulling the brim down low so the staring eyes were concealed. The cap had remained in place ever since.

"Yeah, he sure is a quiet bugger," Amhurst admitted. "Kind of reminds me of my little Carl."

"You have a kid?" Tiverton asked in surprise. "I wouldn'ta thought you were the family type."

"They're safe on L1," Amhurst quietly revealed. "A wife and son. There's another on the way. A girl. My wife wants to name her Helen, but I don't know."

"Helen? Odd name. Where'd she get that idea?"

"I'm not sure. She said she read it in some old Earth novel or something."

"You have a wife that reads that shit? Damn, you aren't gonna get all brainy on me now, are ya?"

"Go to hell, Tiverton!"

"Fuck off!"

The two were silent for a time, then the redhead shuffled his feet and sighed. "So, does the little fucker have a name?" He gestured towards the cell.

"If you'd care to read the information posted right in front of your lazy face, you could see for yourself," the burly man replied, resisting the urge to rub his eyes.

"Duo," read Tiverton, standing in front of the file posted next to the cell door. "Duo what? Doesn't he have a goddamn last name?"

"It would seem not," Amhurst yawned.

"Shit, I can't go calling him by his first name! That's all intimate-like! What happens if I have to shoot 'im?" Tiverton whined. 

"You get over it?" The wiry man's partner was not in the mood to offer sympathy. 

"Fuck you! Don't you know anything? It's bad luck to call an enemy by his first name!" Tiverton was a seasoned soldier and a solid believer in every military superstition. Amhurst was willing to bet that Tiverton would willingly tote a rabbit's foot around with him, if he knew what a rabbit was.

"It's also bad luck to insult those bigger than you," he growled at his smaller companion, tired of his foolishness.

"Is that a threat?"

"Try me!"

"Asshole!"

"Shitface!"

Blessed silence fell over the hall, the irate guards steadfastly ignoring one another. Each was silently thankful that the other's weapon came equipped with a safety guard.

"Hey, did you know he's a survivor from the Maxwell Church?" Amhurst asked some time later. Their shift was nearly over and he was ready to forgive his friend for their earlier disagreement.

"Really? He must have made some deal with Shinigami, huh?" Tiverton snickered. He was silent for a moment. "Say! I think I just found a solution to my problem! That'll be his new name. How 'bout that, Shinigami?" He mockingly called into the cell. 

"You can't call a child that!" Amhurst was shocked. "He can't be more than nine!" His Carl was seven. Carl and the prisoner had hair that was almost the same color...

"His info says he's eleven. Now who's the lazy jerk? And I can call him whatever the hell I feel like, you ass-raping shit-eater!"

"Watch your mouth, you cum-breathed cock-jerker!"

Caught up in their argument, neither of the men noticed as a single tear ran down the prisoner's cheek.

*************

They were back on guard duty two months later, the assignment prompted this time by Tiverton's happy trigger finger.

"Christ, I wouldn'ta shot if I knew it was a civvie! I ain't that cold hearted!" the disgraced soldier whined.

"Complaining isn't going to do any good now. Just grin and bear it," Amhurst rumbled. He was none-too-pleased to find himself assigned back to the sterile prison so soon. His nerves were always piqued by the strange echoes and grating screeches that the iron walls and floors augmented so very well. He desperately wished for a cigarette.

Tiverton sighed, but did cease his incessant moans. Bored beyond reason, he turned to the prisoner's information file for entertainment.

"Says here he's been in therapy. What the fuck is up with that? Why are we paying some fancy doctor so that this little terrorist can feel all warm and snuggly 'bout slaughtering poor bastards like us?" The redhead was outraged. "I been killing people for ages and I ain't never needed no doctor."

"Remember, though your mental age might be indicate otherwise, you're no longer eleven," the tall man rolled his eyes. "And we're not paying a fancy doctor, as you put it, to fix him. He's seeing a military psychiatrist, which you could do -for free- if you so desired. Not that anyone would want to understand that twisted pile of shit you try to pass off as your mind. And as far as I know, he hasn't actually killed anyone."

His words were ignored. 

"Hey, he's supposed to be moving around on his own, now. It don't _look _like he's doing much moving." Tiverton shifted next to the cell, running his rifle along the bars. "Hey, in there! Shinigami! You alive?"

"Stop that, asshole! It's 3AM! He's asleep!" Amhurst shoved his partner, casting an anxious eye towards the still form inside the cell.

"Who gives a flying fuck? I'm bored!"

"I don't care if you're Heero Yuy's uncle in a tutu! Shut the fuck up!"

The two faced off, staring eye to eye, feral snarls gripping their faces. Violence seemed inevitable. Tiverton was just pulling his arm back into a solid roundhouse when he caught a glimpse of a small form out of the corner of his eye. Turning his head in startlement and pulling his punch, he teetered off balance for a second, his weight unevenly distributed. 

The prisoner had moved. In fact, the prisoner had walked right up to the iron bars and was now standing not two feet from him, staring up at him with steady blue eyes.

"Fuck," he breathed, dancing back a few feet. Tiverton was no longer bored. He was too busy having an aneurysm.

"Relax," Amhurst mumbled. He turned his attention from his white-faced partner to the boy, noting how he wavered on his feet. Up close his face looked wasted and gaunt, as though he'd been starved... or chose not to eat. His hair hung loose beneath his cap, falling far past his waist, a snarled mess of tangles and knots. His sleeves had unrolled, concealing his hands, and therefore it was quite a surprise when the boy suddenly held aloft a small cloth canteen. He held it out to them, as though he expected it to be filled.

"Are you thirsty?" Amhurst asked gently. He was startled when the child stared at him as if he were mentally impaired. _Would I be holding out a cup if I weren't? _his eyes seemed to scream in irritation. It seemed the papers weren't lying when they said the prisoner had made progress. "I'll go get you some water." He turned to Tiverton after taking the container warily into his hand. "I'll be back in a minute. Do not, I repeat, do _not _do anything foolish. You hear me?"

"Yeah, yeah, sure," Tiverton flapped a hand at him, his color much restored. He glared at the silent child. "We'll just have a nice little staring contest while you're gone, isn't that right, Shinigami?"

The boy returned his stare emotionlessly.

***************

Not all of the guards were as harmless as Tiverton and Amhurst.

"Damn, look at his face, Amhurst. What the hell did they do that for?" breathed the short man, his mouth hanging slightly ajar in disbelief. He and Amhurst had just arrived for their shift, replacing two other soldiers who'd looked a little too satisfied with themselves. Examination of the cell revealed why. Shinigami, as Tiverton insisted on calling him, was huddled in a corner, his face bruised and bloody, one eye swollen nearly shut. The soldier was willing to bet from the way the kid held himself that there were more injuries hidden beneath his ridiculously oversized garments.

"Because they're sick fucks, that's why." Amhurst was feeling as though his twenty-nine years of life had suddenly doubled. His rifle was a dead weight in his hands.

"Why don't the Federation stop it? Ain't they gonna get reprimanded? He's a prisoner! Prisoners got rights!"

"I doubt they much care what happens to him," the large man replied sadly. "He's only in here until things cool off outside. Once the civvies have put the Tragedy behind them, he's going straight on the streets. He's basically a political prisoner."

"That's some pretty twisted shit," Tiverton grimaced and uncomfortably shifted his weight from leg to leg. "When'd the Federation get so fucked up?"

"God only knows," Amhurst responded, dropping to his knees next to the cell bars. He pulled a square of cloth from his pocket, dampening it with some water from the canteen clipped to his belt.

"Amhurst! That's issue! You just ruined your polishing cloth!"

"Quiet!" barked the brawny man. Lowering his voice, speaking in soft tones as though to an injured puppy -or his own son- Amhurst gently called to the battered prisoner. "Here, kid. Come here. Let ole Uncle Ammie clean you up a little." He held the cloth through the bars, trying to look as non-threatening as possible. "Let me wipe that blood off your face. I promise not to hurt you." Though the boy's uninjured eye had snapped to his face the second he'd begun to speak, he made no effort to move. If anything, his posture had become even stiffer than before. Sighing, Amhurst tossed the wet cloth in the boy's general direction. "Alright, see? I won't force you. Just make sure to clean yourself up before those cuts get infected." He stood, his knees cracking.

"Uncle Ammie?" snickered Tiverton, earning himself a blinding glare.

"Well, we spend enough time with him," Amhurst muttered, flushing red. "I see Duo more than I do my own family. Someone has to look out for him..."

"Fuck!" Tiverton was abruptly on guard. "You fucking feel sorry for the brat, don't you? Shit!! I knew you were too fucking soft for a job like this. Fucking... What the hell, Amhurst?! This is why you shouldn't use their goddamn first names! You start to think of them as people. He ain't no person, you dumb shit! He's nothing but a prisoner. You think of them as people, you start to care. Then you get your fucking head blown off. Fuck, Amhurst, just... just fuck!"

"Tiverton," Amhurst spoke in a low voice, strangely not offended by his partner's biting words. "Look at him. He's a child. An orphan. He hasn't got a thing in the world to call his own, not even his freedom. He doesn't talk, he hardly eats, he refuses to do anything. Christ, he can barely sit up on his own! He stole a mobile suit, sure, but he did it to protect his family. You heard the news reports. He isn't some criminal or murderer like the rest of the people in here. He's just some kid whose luck ran out." As he spoke, he stared at the child with steady eyes. He watched, mesmerized, as Duo slowly lifted his head and met his gaze. They stayed like that, staring into one another's eyes, for a long moment. Then Duo's head turned towards the floor once more, leaving Amhurst slightly shaken, but more emphatic than ever. "We don't need to fear him. He isn't Shinigami."

"Amhurst," Tiverton ground out. "Why the fuck did you have to do this to me? I thought we was partners. Why the fuck did you have to go civvie on me?"

But Amhurst wasn't listening. His attention was firmly locked on the prisoner as the boy gingerly leaned forward, crawling forward to snatch up the cloth from the floor. He moved as though all his bones hurt him, his motions stiff and jerky. Settling back into the corner, cloth in hand, he slowly started wiping at his face. 

**************

"Piece of shit," the redhead muttered, shaking his com violently. "Goddamn modern technology. Give me a good old walkie talkie any day."

"What's your problem now, Tiverton?" groused his partner. 

"Piece of shit com is busted again! It's FUBAR!" Tiverton snapped.

"Then stop shaking it like that, you stupid fucker! Give it here!" Rescuing the much-abused piece of equipment, Amhurst shoved his rifle into the smaller man's hands. "Hold this," he ordered, dropping down to sit cross-legged on the chill metal floor. Reaching into one of his pockets, he pulled out a new polishing cloth and spread it in front of him.

"You just ruined another, jerk," Tiverton garbled above him.

"You want me to fix this or not?" he glared upwards.

"Fine, fine. Go ahead. Sorry. Jeez."

Amhurst reached for one of the utility pouches snapped to his belt. Pulling it free, he removed a tiny set of tools.

"That's not issue. What the fuck is it?"

"An eyeglass repair kit," Amhurst muttered sheepishly.

"You don't wear glasses," Tiverton suspiciously noted.

"Contacts," came the grunted response. Amhurst's attention was focused on the tiny screwdriver he pinched in his fingers. Holding the tool in one hand and the com in the other, he contemplated his task. Delicately, he began loosening the miniature screws holding the com's plastic casing together. Each extricated screw was carefully placed onto the polishing cloth. When they had all been removed, he carefully pried the back off the com, revealing a mess of wires and chips. Running a practiced eye over the machine's guts, Amhurst grunted in understanding. "Your transmission chip is loose," he explained. "And a couple of wires are twisted." Laying the com on the blanket, he selected a small set of tweezers from his tool kit and set about to making the repairs.

A short time later, he looked up. "Okay, I think I've fixed it. Try it out now before I put the back on." He held up the device. Tiverton slung both rifles over his shoulder and took the com from the beefy hand. As his partner futzed with the small machine, Amhurst glanced into the cell, absently checking to see that the prisoner was secure. He was surprised to see that Duo was right up against the bars, squatting back on his heels, examining his tool kit with open interest. "You liked that, huh?" he asked the boy with a grin. Duo looked at him and seemed to consider before blinking his assent. His eyes darted between the com and the Amhurst. "Want me to show you how it works?" he offered, amazed at the sudden animation the child displayed. Duo earnestly met his eyes and Amhurst laughed. "Why not? It's not like either of us are going anywhere."

"Yeah, it's fixed. Thanks, buddy." Tiverton had missed the exchange between the other two. Looking up from his com, he handed it back to Amhurst. "Slap the back on there and it'll be damned great." Then, as Amhurst took the com and scooted over to the cell, "What the fuck you doing?"

"Kid's interested. I'm gonna teach him how it works," the large man explained. He turned his attention to the prisoner, pointing to the com's jumble of pieces with his screwdriver. "This is a com. It's what we use to communicate with one another. Com is short for communication device, but I guess that's a no brainer, huh?" 

"You're a no brainer, asshole! What the fuck you doing, teaching the damned kid how our shit works?! Dammit, he could turn right around and use that info to hack his lock open! And don't sit so close to the little bugger. Fuck knows what tricks he's got up his sleeves," Tiverton spat, waving the two rifles in indignant outrage.

"Watch the pieces, nitwit! They're loaded and active!"

"If you can teach the enemy how to build a goddamn bomb, I think I can wave a couple of rifles around!"

"I'm not teaching him to build a bomb, you shit for brains! I'm teaching him how basic technology works! Christ, he probably won't understand anyway!"

"You can't take that chance! Shit, you're a damned pathetic excuse for a soldier, you know that, Amhurst?"

"What the fuck did you say?"

"Pissed you off, huh? Good, 'cause you've been pissing me off for a long goddamn time. I'm sick of your shit!"

"And I'm sick of your mouth!"

"Yeah?"  


"Yeah!"

This time the two men did begin to brawl, fists flying as furiously as their slurs. The guns were kicked to the side, discarded, and the com lay abandoned in front of the cell. Surreptitiously, Duo snatched it up as his guards toppled to the floor, Amhurst pinning Tiverton's shoulders. As they continued to grappling, sweat rolling down their faces, the child examined the precious equipment he clutched in his shaking hand. When security arrived to break up the fight a few minutes later, the com was safely returned to the hallway floor and Duo was once more in his corner, curled up around himself, the com's construction securely etched into his mind.

That was the last time he saw Tiverton and Amhurst.

****************  


**__**

Case #: 1039584000116

****

Patient's Name: Duo ?

****

Date: August 28, AC192 

****

Doctor: Palladino

****

Patient Evaluation:

Continues to display aversion towards physical contact. Continues to refuse to speak. Continues to avoid making eye contact. Continues to refuse to eat. Continues to display hostility towards offered assistance. Continues to avoid facing the reality of his situation. Continues to.... nothing has changed since the last session. See previous notes.

****

Patient Prognosis:

I wash my hands of this.

****

Comments:

This patient has been in my care for ten months now. I have seen little progress made, yet remain certain that this is solely by the patient's choice. I am positive that his intelligence is fully active and functioning, probably at above average levels. It is of my opinion that we are not dealing with a mentally incapacitated child. Though I make no claim that the boy is free of mental problems, I feel this course of therapy is doing little to redeem the situation. At this time, there is no trust between the patient and myself. This is the largest barrier against his progress and until a bond can be forged, there is little that can be done. Frankly, I don't feel it to be worth the time. The patient frequently displays paranoia, self-induced catatonia, anorexia, suicidal inclinations, self-mutilation, and depression. I suspect a number of underlying, far more severe problems that cannot be diagnosed from the information currently available. This child is not the Federation's responsibility and I strongly recommend his therapy be ceased at once. Any further sessions would be a waste of time and money. No answers will be forthcoming.

The general slapped the file down on his desk, his heavily lined face contorted with irritation. "Son of a bitch!"

"Sir?" an aide hesitantly ventured, poking his head into the general's office. "Did you need something, sir?"

"Nothing, Wang," the man replied, his tone belying his words. "Go back to your tasks." He sank down into his leather desk chair, slumping slightly.

"Sir, right away, sir." The aide's eyes were wide as he turned to leave.

"Wait!" barked the general abruptly, his posture suddenly ramrod stiff. A dangerous glitter was in his eye.

"Yes, sir?"   


"Call Commander Rojas. Tell him I want to speak with him. Now."

"On the double, sir!"

Within a half-hour's time Rojas stood at attention before the general's desk, his uniform impeccably pressed, his lower legs encased by spit-shined leather boots. "You wished to see me, sir?"

"Please, have a seat, Rojas."

"Thank you, sir."

"Would you care for a glass of wine?"

"No, thank you, sir. I'm on duty, sir. Wang said you wanted to ask me something, sir?"

"Tell me, soldier, would I be correct if I said you'd been in charge of security operations for the past ten years?" The general spoke with remarkable civility, his hands neatly folded atop his massive wooden desk. It appeared to all the world that he considered this to be a social meeting.

"You would, sir," the man replied without hesitation.

"And would I be wrong if I said that we'd never had a security breach since you came into command?"

"You would be correct, sir," Rojas agreed with pride.

"Really? And what would you call that incident with the boy? A success?" His voice rising, the general shot to his feet, looming above his quaking inferior. "I'd call that a noted failure, Rojas, and yet did I demote you from your position?"

"N-no..."  
  
"No. I did not. Because you said, give it time. Give the boy time to calm down and he'd give us answers. He'd tell us how he breached our _code red _security measures and managed to steal a billion dollar piece of equipment out from under the noses of several dozen highly trained soldiers armed with deadly weapons! We could learn from him, you said. We could pinpoint our errors and tighten our security. Well, guess what, Rojas?"

"S-sir?"

"You've both run out of time."

*********************

Duo raised his head. He knew not how long he'd been lying there, crouched on the floor of his former home, pressed against the cold bloodstain of the Father. He noted without emotion that it was now bright out, that the artificial sunlight was pouring through the cheap glass windows of the church, casting pools of light wherever it fell. He shut his eyes. No amount of light would ever counteract the darkness that had occurred there. Off-handedly, he wondered how many days had passed since he'd arrived. Judging by his body's stiffness, at least two or three. With a stifled groan, he dragged himself to his feet, joints cracking and muscles aching. Remaining here further would do no good.

He stood in one of the few places of shadow for a long moment, his hands clenched into fists and his eyes squinted shut against the sun's blinding assault. Gathering his reserves, he turned his back on the bloodstain and took a tentative step forward, leaving the darkness behind. Though his steps were slow at first, the farther he passed from the altar the quicker his progression became. By the time he reached the door he was practically jogging, his heavy braid flopping against his back. 

He had placed his hands on the door, about to shove it open, when he paused. Twisting his head around, his eyes darted about the church's interior, as though memorizing its angles and planes. Seeming to come to a conclusion, he turned to face the altar once more, dropping down to his knees and lowering his head. 

"My name," he said softly to himself, "is Duo. Duo _Maxwell_."

Raising his gaze, he locked his sight on the bloodstain marring the church's floor. He stared at it for endless seconds, his heart seeming to pause in his chest. Slowly, with many false starts, he began to speak, the words stumbling across his tongue, voice scratchy with misuse.

"W-we colonists di-didn't come to space to f-fight. This is a p-place for peace. If you wanted war so much, you should have left us out of it........ All you do is make orphans like me. We were happy here and you stole that away." His speech had begun levelly, dispassionate, as though he were reciting from a script, but as he spoke, his tone grew increasingly angry, hostility lending his words strength. "You stole that from us. You stole that from the whole colony. Someone has to make sure you don't take anything else. It's just by chance that I'm still alive. I might as well be the one to do the dirty jobs." 

Standing, he turned to the door, firmly pushing against its formidable weight. 

"I'm Duo Maxwell. I may run, I may hide, but I never tell a lie." 

Then, as the light fell across his narrow frame, a slightly unbalanced grin snaked its way across his face. His attention turned in the direction of the colony's spaceport, where he knew shuttles departed for the Earth at regular intervals. Snickering with anticipation, he darted across the church yard and struggled through the barbed wire fence. As he set off down the street at an efficient clip, boots making hardly a noise against the pavement, a mere slip of black in the hectic tide of people, he muttered a single phrase to himself, a phrase that in the coming years would become the last words many Federation soldiers would hear.

"Shinigami is coming for you."

****

-Fin-

Zooie: My muses have decided that this is to be a trilogy. Hooray!


	4. Pawn

****

Once more, thank you to the wonderful reviewers!

Disclaimer: Did you know if you rearrange the letters in "disclaimer" it spells "not mine?"

Author's Notes: This was the hardest part to write and I apologize for the time it's taken. I'd brought Duo to a pivotal junction and had to tread very carefully. We're all familiar with his character from watching the show. Let me assure you, spanning the significant gap between "Becoming Shinigami" and the first episodes was daunting. I'd drawn him through his life fully knowing the person he'd turn out to be and that had posed quite the challenge. Essentially, I was working backwards, deconstructing his psyche and then fitting it back together. In the end, I took the coward's way out and ended the storyline roughly two years before the start of GW. I left Duo plenty of time to change and mature beyond where my interpretation ends. 

I feel it's worth noting that the version of GW you've seen will influence your opinion of this work. If you've seen the Cartoon Network version, undoubtedly you find Duo horribly OOC. If you've seen the unedited dubbed version, you will probably find he's OOC, but will be able to go along with it. If you've seen the unedited subbed version, however, and read the duojinshi, I hope you'll find he's in character! If you don't, I've done a very sloppy job.

A note about duojinshi: Erk. I hate to say this, but I don't enjoy most of them. The writers don't seem to fully understand the characters, or at least their interpretation of them is very different from my own. This isn't to say that they're bad or the writers are inept. I simply mean that in my opinion, they should be taken with the same grain of salt with which you'd read a fanfiction.net work. Nothing in life is perfect, as you undoubtedly know if you're reading this fic!

Apologies: Parts of this are rather melodramatic, in my opinion, but strangely enough I felt this was what gave the characters texture. After all, aren't we all just a bit over the top and trite at times? Come on, admit it, how many times have you said, "I'm gonna die!" when you were really embarrassed? How often have you said, "I'm starving!" when you were merely hungry? But still, I apologize and ask you to excuse my lack of skill in portraying realistic characters. 

I also apologize for my writing style. As my professor put it, I "have the voice of five writers and speak enough for all of them." Sorry if I'm a bit wordy.

I apologize as well for this lengthy introduction. On to the story!

Warnings: Language, melodramatics.

Soul Forge III: Pawn

__

Turning and turning in the widening gyre

The falcon cannot hear the falconer;

Things fall apart; the center cannot hold;

Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,

The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere

The ceremony of innocence is drowned;

The best lack all conviction, while the worst

Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;

Surely the Second Coming is at hand.

-William Butler Yeats, "the Second Coming"

"Let go! Let me go!" The scrawny youth struggled with the ferocity of a wildcat, limbs flailing about with violent intensity, his boots scuffling for solid footing on the treaded metal floor. Caught in the solid grasps of two men literally twice his size, he seemed not to know that he fought in vain. Truth be told, he didn't appear to be quite in his right mind. His actions were too frenzied, his struggles too animalistic. Though they maintained their holds stoically, the two men regarded their catch with wary eyes.

__

Go limp in their arms and then, when they think you've passed out, take advantage of their weakened defenses to break free, Duo's good friend Experience instructed him mentally. 

__

No, too predictable, Wisdom argued. _Knee the taller one in the crotch and use the moment of shock to escape. The first will be too incapacitated to stop you and the second too surprised to do more than gape. _

That's the oldest trick in the book! Experience scoffed. _It never works!_

Of course it works! That's why it's in the book in the first place! Wisdom shot back.

Shut up, both of you! The best course of action would be to cease struggling and negotiate. Use words to win them over to our side, Reason contributed sensibly. 

__

Damned pacifist! Experience scoffed.

Well, he might have a point... Wisdom reluctantly agreed.

__

Idiots! I'm surrounded by idiots! Experience moaned.

In the end, in the midst of all the caterwauling and complaints, it was the trusty pair of Panic and Profanity whose golden words won the debate: _Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit!!!_

Twisting and tugging in his captive's arms, struggling with all the power his body possessed, Duo's actions took on an air of desperation as he realized that he was _not _getting free. "I'm warning you! Let go 'a me!" he threatened ineffectively, an edge of insanity tinting his words. He seemed to truly believe that he could fulfill his empty threats. As they retained their hold on the boy, allowing him to exhaust his resources, the two men exchanged glances and rolled their eyes at one another. They had known all along that this fight was over before it had begun, regardless of whatever strength the boy's mental stability (or lack thereof) might lend him. Determination only went so far in the face of brute strength.

"You've got a lot of courage kid, stowing away on our Sweeper's ship," one of the men informed Duo gruffly, not at all impressed by the outrageous display of childish audacity. _He fights with a soldier's passion, but his eyes are squeezed completely shut,_ he noted with wry amusement. 

Opening his eyes long enough to note his captors' grim expressions, Duo felt a tiny bit of Reason tiptoe up alongside Panic, neatly insinuating itself in Profanity's place. Without his partner, Panic suddenly lost all courage, retreating back into the darkest corner of Duo's mind. Reason had at long last won out and the only thought Duo could frame of a sudden was, _Uh oh! You've really done it now, you idiot! Time to cut your losses! _He slowly ceased to struggle, chest heaving from his exertions. He was vaguely aware of Reason's approving nod as he willed his body to still.

"What's going on here?" A mildly curious voice inquired of a sudden. The two Sweepers, reasonably certain that their hold on the prisoner was secure, chanced brief, backwards glances over their shoulders. Not surprisingly, they discovered the speaker was Dr. G, his eyes narrowed beneath his inane mushroom cap of hair. The physically-maimed, eccentric scientist was a genius of stealth technology and had long since earned widespread respect amongst the Sweepers. Though he had many talents that made him worthy of their admiration, not least amongst them was his uncanny ability to know _everything _that was happening in his orbits of interest. This was surely what had brought him to their side now, for the hall they occupied was one far deviated from the main flow of the ship's inhabitants.

"A stowaway. He's been stealing the food supplies!" the shorter man stated resentfully, relieved to see the scientist. His presence removed all responsibility for the situation from his shoulders. What fate befell the stowaway was no longer his concern.

"Hey, I wanna eat some decent food too, once in a while!" The kid's sudden self-possession was remarkable. At the drop of a hat his residual rage had fled his body, leaving behind a jaded, sarcastic waif of a boy, a bravado of self-assurance shielding the jagged uncertainty in his eyes. Squaring his shoulders, he jerked in their grasp one last time, as though for good measure. "Let me go!"

Dr. G watched him with a glimmer of interest. "Let him go." _I might have a use for this one._

They eyed the scientist dubiously, positive that the second they loosed their grip the boy would disappear back into the bowels of the ship. "But-"

"It's alright. He knows there is no sense in fleeing, now that we know he's here. Let him go. He has nowhere left to hide." The words were spoken as much to the captive as to the captors. The scientist thought he saw a flicker of wariness in boy's eyes as the Sweepers reluctantly surrendered their hold and stepped warily back, poised to lunge if the prisoner should attempt to run. True to his prediction, however, the brown-haired child stood his ground, making a show of rubbing the darkening bruises that marked where he had been held. _Malnourished, if he bruised that easily, stolen food or no. Well, that's fixed easily enough._ The boy glared from under his thick bangs, muttering under his breath as he massaged his hurts. Resentment was written in every line of his body. _It's his attitude that concerns me. Such spirit, but such rage! A useful enough tool, he will be, but only if his mind is still malleable. _

Dr. G eye the child up and down, seemingly conducting a survey of his unusual appearance, taking in the faded priest's clothes and the peculiar braid. He noted the now-fading signs of recent physical abuse, the healing cuts on an otherwise smooth face and the yellowy-green bruises mottling skinny lower arms. The remarkable pallor of his skin suggested that he had been either recently ill or was released from long-term confinement not many days ago. He observed as well the long-since-healed wounds on the youth's hands, a network of thin, white scars that bespoke a rough past. Though he had at first estimated the stowaway to be about ten years of age, a close examination forced him to revise his earlier conclusion. Unless he missed his guess -which he doubted- he would bet that the kid was older than he looked. _Interesting. This boy is much more than he seems. I *must* have him!_

Abruptly he became aware that, as he had studied the child before him, so had the child studied _him. _He found himself wondering what conclusions the stowaway had drawn. Judging from the expression on his face, the boy's deductions were none too flattering. _Cautious of a sudden. Good. He is aware that the situation has changed, although he is not yet sure how. He is precisely what this plan calls for._

Meeting suspicious blue eyes, Dr. G forced himself into calm indifference despite the sudden excitement that gripped his innards. Schooling his voice into a combination of casual respect and curiosity, he addressed the child directly. "Kid, I can't believe you snuck onto my ship. I thought my security system was flawless! How did you do it?"

An offended look overtook the boy's impish features, as though he had been asked to divulge the most precious of secrets. It seemed likely that he would refuse to answer, but then one of the Sweepers cleared his throat, reasserting his presence in the state of affairs. Though minutes ago the boy had seemed impervious to fear, one look at the man's threatening posture did much to increase his willingness to cooperate. _He realizes that with my arrival came a new set of rules. He suspects they are not so conducive towards his well-being as the old. _The child hid his moment of fear with a bold pose, cocking one hand on his hip and raising the other to gesture airily towards the ceiling. He tossed his braid and arrogantly tilted his head, flippantly answering as though he hadn't a care in the world. "That's a professional secret, but so your pride isn't hurt too badly, I'll admit I had a hard time getting in."

"Interesting brat..." Dr. G was delighted. _He is perfect! Or rather, he will become perfect, with the proper training. _

It seemed his words has once more roused the boy's irk. He glared at the scientist, eyes sparking indignantly. "I'm not a brat! My name is Duo! I run, I hide, but I never lie! Duo Maxwell!" The slim child thumped himself on the chest, as if to prove Duo Maxwell was not just an identity, but also a physical presence. Not just an idea, but a reality.

"Maxwell...?" Suddenly it all came together in his mind. The scars, the imprisonment, the attire, the braid. _Just as I suspected! Ah, cruel irony! _"Ha ha! Maxwell's little demon, hn?" he guffawed, citing the name urban legend had given to the Maxwell Church Tragedy's rumored survivor.

His words seemed to have breached a barrier of sorts, to have broken some unspoken taboo within the boy's psyche. There was a sudden change in Duo's aura. Suddenly, he was no longer a cornered boy delicately skirting his breaking point. He was... something unearthly. Dr. G felt his blood run cold as a sickly grin spread across the boy's face. Duo leaned forward, staring directly into his eyes with a gaze that bordered on inhuman. His lips parted and he took a step forward, as though about to impart a terrible secret. Dr. G found himself involuntarily shrinking slightly back. Duo caught his apprehension and his grin widened. 

"Not a demon..." he whispered disconcertingly. Blinking his wide eyes innocently, he straightened with a jerk and threw his arms wide, tossing his head back to laugh without restraint. "I'm Shinigami!" he announced, as the three men watched aghast.

"Kid's as wacky as he is," muttered the tall Sweeper.

As Duo giggled manically, probably on the edge of hysteria, Dr. G knew beyond a doubt that this boy had not come to him by chance. _I have been provided with all I need. The pieces have all been delivered. It just remains to put them all together. _And nothing so captivated him as a challenge.

*********************

__

I never thought I'd actually come to appreciate diminished gravity. Duo drifted down the hall gently, correcting his course with a touch when his path took him too close to a wall. _But this is actually kind of fun! _His first few days aboard the ship had been spent in misery. His stomach was ill-prepared for the churning sensation produced by gravity far weaker than he was accustomed to. Certain... compromises had to be reached between his body and the ship, a process that had not proven especially quick. He'd passed the time curled into a ball in the cargo hold, sheltered by a plethora of wooden crates, silently begging his stomach to calm down. 

By the time he'd been able to move freely about, he'd been weak from lack of food. However, he'd had the presence of mind to wait until the ship's dark cycle began (_artificial environments that duplicate natural cycles make adjustment to space easier for a ship's occupants_) before venturing off in search of the cafeteria. _Ship this size has got to have a huge supply of food. No one will notice if I pinch a couple a ration bars off the top._ However, the catacombs of the ship's halls had proven far more confusing than he'd initially supposed. _Shit, I've passed that sign three times already. I am *so* lost! _He paused to get his bearings, allowing his feet to settle on the floor, face scrunched in thought. _Let's see... I made a left there and then... no, wait. It was a right... wasn't it? _Lost in thought, he was unaware that he'd begun tapping his boot in irritation against the metal surface on which he stood, creating a regular beat. The sound had lead the two Sweeper mechanics directly towards him...

__

Idiot, he chided himself yet again. _You know better than that! _Yet he really couldn't bring himself complain that loudly. Since his capture, he'd been treated more than fairly by the ship's crew, was given food and drink per his whim, had free roam of the halls. Hell, they'd even given him his own room, something he'd never had -unless you counted his prison cell, which he didn't. He supposed that calling it a room was a bit generous, though. It was scarcely large enough to hold a bed. _And the only reason they put me there in the first place was so they could lock me up if they wanted. But still, it's odd to have a place to call my own, even if it's just for a little while. I kind of like it. _Privacy was a new sensation for him and he reveled in it.

__

Yeah, this place is pretty cool. 'Cept for that Dr. G guy. He creeps me out. I know I owe him, but I just keep getting this feeling that there's more to him than he's letting on. Head accountant, my ass. That guy is dangerous! Sighing, Duo floated to a halt in front of an ominous looking door. _Yep, Hold 9. This is the place. Of course, it *had* to be the creepy looking one! Wonder what he wants? Eh, does it really matter? It's time I finally start earning my keep. I hate being a leech._ With a sudden eagerness, he rapped the door smartly. 

"Enter!" Dr. G ordered sharply. Duo keyed the touch pad and the door slid open. 

The world suddenly lost all sense. From the back of his mind, Profanity crept forward, a tentative offering in hand: _Shit_!

__

What the hell?!!! That's a Mobile Suit! It's huge! His feet moved him into the room of their own accord. He was propelled across the floor by fascination, never taking his eyes from the monstrosity before him, until he reached where Dr G stood, an amused glint in his eyes. "T-that's a Mobile Suit," he sputtered. 

"I am aware of that, Kid," Dr. G patiently watched, waiting to see what conclusions the boy would draw. _He's proven himself quite intelligent thus far. Let's see just how much he can figure out on his own. _

"But... It doesn't look like the other suits I've seen. It's... different," Duo stared with awe at the machine, considering.

"Yes, it _is _very different. It's quite unique," Dr. G agreed. _You don't know the half of it, kid! _But Duo's next words forced him to reconsider his thoughts. 

"It doesn't just look different," the boy observed thoughtfully. "And it's not just made differently. There's something about it that's weird. It... it tries to trick the eye. It's like it's hiding." He laughed suddenly, but the sound held no humor. "But that's crazy! Something that big, hiding? Puh-lease, Duo!" He rubbed the back of his head nervously. "It's impossible! Right?" he looked to the scientist for confirmation, his eyes begging for confirmation.

__

He has the wisdom to be circumspect towards what he doesn't understand. Fate has truly delivered him to my hands. "Is anything truly unachievable? I thought it impossible that someone could penetrate my ship, yet here you are." 

"You can't mean... but... Why do you have something like this? Where did it come from?" Tearing his eyes from the suit, the boy whipped around to stare at him with wide eyes. "What are you planning to do with it? And why did you show this to me? You can't possibly expect...?!"

"Very good, boy. You figured it out all by yourself. I wondered if you could." He was more than pleased with his acquisition. _He is worth the time and effort of training him. Now I just need him to agree to my proposal._ "This is Deathscythe. If you wish, he could become your Shinigami."

Impervious to the spectacular offer he'd just been made, Duo was proving himself to be in a less than agreeable mood. He'd dropped into a slight crouch, skepticism radiating in almost tangible waves. "Stop speaking in riddles, old man! What the hell is going on here?! I'm warning you, you do not want to piss me off!"

"Calm yourself, boy, there's no need for anger. All will be explained," Dr. G was practically cackling with enjoyment. "Oh, you have much to learn! I cannot wait to begin!" He spoke as if Duo had already given his acquiescence. The stowaway quite clearly begged to differ.

"No way in hell! There is no way I'm learning to use that thing until you tell me what you've got planned!" Jerking his head from side to side, his braid whipping through the air behind him, the kid was the picture of stalwart refusal. _Ahh, but his refusal is not absolute. He has left room for acceptance, should my words please him. _

Honesty was doubtlessly the best course to take. _But even the truth can be used to manipulate. _Raising his eyebrows in a parody of shock, he spoke as if he were surprised by Duo's lack of understanding. "What is my purpose? What do I seek to accomplish? Why, Kid, the same thing as you do. I seek to protect the colonies."

Wisely, the boy was not so easily convinced. If anything, his answer had just raised more questions. _Good. I would be distrustful of someone who switched sides so easily._ "Protect them from what? And how?" Duo asked, tone sullen but with markedly less hostility. 

"From those who would do them harm. The Federation. Oz. The Longfeller Foundation. And how? Well, that's up to you, now isn't it?" _The snare is falling neatly into place. Ah, this is far too enjoyable. You're becoming callous in your old age, man_. 

"What do you mean? You're going in circles! Just give me an answer, already!" The youngster yelped in frustration, his patience obviously worn to the bone.

Dr. G dropped all pretense. Moving to stand directly before the boy, his hands shot out before the kid could react. Locking the boy's head in his grasp, he turned the face so they were staring eye to eye. Tension drummed through the boy's frame as he willfully tried to break free. Dr. G ignored his struggles, locking the boy's eyes with his.

"You, Duo Maxwell, will pilot this suit. You will use it to defend the colonies. You will be their shield. You will be their Shinigami. You will act as his hands in their name, damning those who would destroy them to the depths of hell."

"B-but that's crazy!" The youngster blinked rapidly, eyes darting nervously around. His struggles increased. Dr. G gave his head a rough shake, forcing him to stillness, before capturing his eyes once more. 

"Is it so dissimilar from what you thought to do? Look at yourself, Kid. Look at where your plans have gotten you." 

"That's different!" Duo closed his eyes, refusing to reveal anything to the scientist's probing gaze. 

"Really? I was under the impression that we both sought to achieve the same goal: to protect the colonies from harm, to remove the need for them to fight, to save them from themselves and what they do not understand. But you explain to me how your plan is different."

"It just is!" The eyes remained stubbornly closed, the mouth scowling in aggravation. 

"How?" Dr. G pressed without restraint against the boy's will. _He *will* bend! He *will* be mine! _

"Because... because..." Sounding desperate, Duo stalled and seemed to weigh his options, trying to determine exactly where he stood.

"Because what?" Dr. G sharply reminded him exactly what ground he tread. "Answer me!"

"Because I was supposed to die!" A hissed admission, spat between clenched teeth. The pale cheeks flushed red. Dr. G had no sympathy for damaged pride.

"And now I'm offering you a way to achieve your goal without dying. But the question now is, boy, whether you have the strength to choose life." He spoke evenly, frankly, not passing judgment upon the boy, but certainly broking his admission no excuses.

"Fuck you! I don't have to take this shit from some ugly old loser like you!" Duo's eyes shot open, filled with resentment and hatred. But beneath the virulent emotions, something more lay dormant. _Pain. Fear. Hopelessness. Futility. This boy has been kicked more often than the lowest of beasts. It is long since time for him to assert himself in this world._

"Yes, you do, oh ignorant one. Just who do you think controls this ship? Whose benevolence do you think you have been enjoying? Refuse me, boy, and you won't die a noble death for the colonies. You'll be put down like a dog." _And that is precisely what you've been seeking to avoid._

"You're insane," Duo whispered in horror. Dr. G chuckled briefly.

"Perhaps. Or maybe I'm just ruthless. I have my cause and I choose to stand by it. I had hoped you would stand by my side..." _This war leaves no room for kid gloves. I'm sorry I had to be so hard on you, kid, but this was necessary if the colonies are to have any hope at all. _Gently, he released his hold and patted the boy on the head with odd affection. "Don't worry, my boy. The time will come when you will play Shinigami. But first you have to agree to my terms, eh?"

"I...I."

"I see you're overwhelmed at the moment. Let's make a deal, eh, boy? I'll give you a week to decide. You can pilot for me or you can choose to curl up and die. I'm being very generous with you, kid." He turned his back on the wavering youth, crossing the cold, echoing floor to stand beneath the mobile suit. Running a loving hand across the gundamium foot, he addressed the boy with a hint of hostility. "I suggest you decide quickly."

"What's to keep me from stealing a shuttle and leaving?" The words were more from curiosity than from any actual threat. _He will think this matter over very seriously. And once he realizes there is no decision at all, he will surrender to my plan without qualms. But for now I'll play along. Let him think he has a choice to ponder. _

"Hmmm. I do believe you'd try. Interesting. Ah, well, no consequence. Constant supervision should thwart any escape plans you can come up with." He chuckled without humor, his hand still resting against the massive foot of his creation.

*****************

Pia resisted the urge to rub her head in frustration. _I am going to have a *colossal* headache later on. Goddamn stubborn kid. Who do they think I am, Mary Poppins?[1] _

She was _not _in the mood for this right now. She'd spent all morning cloistered in the accounting office, bent over the books, trying to discover just how 1,000,000 credits had simply up and disappeared_. I'm going to have to have a word with Howard about the proper usage of decimal points. _

No sooner had she left the office than Yossarion had intercepted her in the cafeteria and saddled her with the Kid, claiming Dr. G had had "urgent business" and was deferring the boy to her watchful eye. She'd been unable to come up with a valid excuse to avoid the responsibility and had found herself sitting across the table from a very puny, very bored, very discontent bundle of dissatisfaction named Duo Maxwell. Finding herself wondering why Dr G had taken the youth under his wing (_this is no place for a child_), she'd swallowed her complaints along with her lunch. Standing with a glare that dared the boy to disobey her, she'd then led the way to the spaceship's gym, resolute that her schedule was not going to be disrupted by an unannounced visitor. She was a creature of habit, set in her ways, and if the Kid had a problem with that... well, she didn't much care. Luckily, her charge had followed without comment, feet dragging and shoulders sagging. _Like I was leading him to his execution_, she'd thought with disgust. She'd gone through her normal workout, a routine that took the better part of two hours (_it's hard to keep your muscles strong in low gravity atmospheres)_ and the Kid had watched her dully, slumped against a wall. 

At some point, her feelings had begun that subtle shift from irritation to interest. _Well, he didn't plan to be here, I'm certain of that much. But why was he allowed to stay? Why didn't we dump his scrawny ass on the nearest space station and book it?_ From there it was only a matter of time before the interest turned into subtle observation. _He certainly doesn't *look* useful. Gods above, what is with that outfit? It's as bad as Howard's damned shirt! And that look in his eyes... that scares me. A child has no business wearing eyes like that. He looks... desperate. Lost. Worn. He's so thin... _Her matronly streak had then kicked in for some unfathomable reason (_gonna get me in trouble one day_), making her suddenly mindful of the boy's underdeveloped frame. _I suppose some exercise would do him good. He looks all at odds with himself and the world. Nothing like a good sweat to make things seem clearer._ Dropping down from the chin press, she'd called over to the Kid, offering him the use of the equipment if he promised to be careful. Upon which he'd suspiciously agreed and, at her suggestion, stripped off his outer shirt. Upon which he'd inadvertently revealed the knife strapped to his upper arm. Upon which she'd been appropriately scandalized.

_And I've spent the past three hours trying to convince this little prick that carrying a concealed weapon is *not* allowed on a Sweepers ship, especially when you're a goddamn kid that nobody trusts!_

"Kid! For the last time! I'm not arguing with you! Give me the knife!" She held out her hand impatiently.

The Kid (_Duo_, she reminded herself absently. _The little brat has a name._) stood before her, said knife clenched firmly in his bony fist. _At least he's left it in the sheath. He had that much sense. _From the way his knuckles were sharply pressing against his flesh, she would have bet he was not going to give up the weapon freely, even if she hadn't already been struggling for three hours to attain that very goal. She'd tried everything, short of out and out violence. The Kid had consistently avoided her lunging snatches, skirted her surreptitious approaches, and resisted her wheedling requests. She was at the end of her patience. _Thank the Gods that no one has taken an interest in our little... discussion. The last thing I need is for some loudmouthed, know-it-all mechanic to show up. Or, stars forbid, Dr. G... although I'll have to inform him of this later. _

"B-but I have to-" the Kid sputtered, his stamina _finally _wearing down. His logic, which had begun as impassioned, was now reduced to shreds, falling fast before Pia's astute mind and sharp tongue. He refused to admit defeat, however, and Pia really hated that...

"Yes, yes. I know. And I know. And I know. Because you keep telling me!" _Every two minutes for the past three hours. _She mimicked his voice harshly, purposely pitching her tone to be high-pitched and squeaky. "'I have to go to the Earth and get revenge! I have to go and kill every man, woman, child, pony, elephant, rosebush, mosquito, aardvark, emu, and amoeba that has even the remotest connection to the Federation! I am Shinigami and I will kill them all!' Pretty damned conceited, if you ask me." She snorted.

Instead of retorting with a jab of his own, Duo was suddenly on the defensive, not seeking to advance his position, but rather defend it. "Stop making fun of me! You don't understand!" 

And something in her snapped. _I? *I* don't understand? Oh, boyo, you have got another thought coming_. She spoke harshly, her tone acid, her words biting. She met his eyes forcibly, leaving no room for misunderstanding or twisted meanings. He _would _listen. "Don't understand what? How it feels to have everything ripped out from under you? How it feels to have lost all you know? To have nothing? Not even a reason to live?" She sounded suddenly tired, her vigor lost in the bitter reality of her words. Duo shrank visibly before her gaze. "Look, kid, what happened to you wasn't fair. It wasn't even right. It was a goddamn shame and I'm sure it hurts like hell. But how is causing more pain going to change that?"

He sputtered, all certainty destroyed. He looked as though he hung onto his beliefs by a thread. "But... if I destroy them, then they can't hurt anyone else ever again! If I stop them, they won't ever make anyone hurt, ever!"

She could not allow such unfounded, such _idiotic_, hopes to continue living on. There were certain realities that one needed to learn as soon as possible in life, lest one become a victim. _And I am utterly amazed that Life has not yet taught him this lesson. Or is he, in spite of all that has been done to him, still that much of an idealist? Impossible!_

"Silence! Listen to yourself! Do you really think that's going to solve anything? If it's not the Federation, it will be someone else. Always, it will be someone else. You could fight for an entire lifetime and never free man of his pain. You have to fight the cause of an evil, not the puppets it controls. Is destroying the Federation going to change anything? Are they really the ones you must fight against? Your heart is in the right place, but your thoughts are all wrong. Have you ever heard the expression, an eye for an eye and soon the whole world is blind? Is it not better to destroy the weapon than the eye?"

"Better blind than dead!" His temper flashed through his indecision. He held the knife more steadfastly than ever.

"Do you really believe that?" she asked quietly. 

He was silent for a long time, unblinkingly meeting her even stare. Then, he lowered his eyes to his boots, looking suddenly lost and ashamed. "....No."

Sweet, utter relief flowed through her._ Even with all his stupid hopes and dreams, there is still some sense in that thick skull of his._

"I didn't think so. Kid, come here. I'm going to explain something to you." He refused to come, suspecting that an approach would mean the sacrifice of his knife. The niggling idea presented itself that this knife was more than a simple weapon to him. _Hmm. A symbol, perhaps? No... A reason. A reason to get up each day. A reason to continue living._ Her heart felt heavy and she longed to crawl into bed with some painkillers and a cup of tea, but she still had words left to say. _And someone who desperately needs to hear them. _"In this life, everyone has choices presented to them. Sometimes we choose rightly, sometimes we make mistakes. We never know for certain until we've already acted. Though we'd prefer to be in the right, it is often from our mistakes that we learn the most."

"I know that!" He rolled his eyes, those huge blue eyes that held so much wisdom, but also an equal serving of ignorance. _Goddamn it! I'm trying to help you!_ Unthinkingly, she lashed verbally out.

"I know you do! You're alive, aren't you?"

Silence. She'd pushed him too far. Unsolicited anger shot through her mind. _Damn. Now I'll never get that knife. Only... _She admitted to herself that that wasn't what bothered her, truly. _Now I'll never have my say. And if he gets himself killed... I'll never forgive myself. I'll always wonder if I could have somehow prevented it... _

"I apologize, kid. That was uncalled for." She took a deep breath. She didn't care if he listened or not; she had to say this. For herself. She had her own demons. "Look, all I'm trying to say is, there are times when we know we're making mistakes. The trick is to _realize _we know. Usually pride is the biggest obstacle we must overcome in order to see clearly, but I don't think that's the case with you," she said thoughtfully. "I think it's much more basic. I think you're afraid."

"I'm not afraid!" He sounded horrified at the idea. _At least he's listening. And did he...?_

"Did you just lie to me?" she asked frankly.

"I..." He looked shocked, though she wondered at the cause. _The lie or my observation of it? The former, I hope, for your sake._

"I thought so. See what I mean? You, Duo Maxwell, who runs, hides, does everything, but never lies. Your pride caused you to err in your judgment... only I don't think it was pride this time, either. It was fear. You were afraid I'd think you were weak and vulnerable, something you learned the hard way is _not _a safe way to be perceived. Your fear of being hurt or taken advantage of caused you to make a mistaken judgment."

"So what are you saying? That I want to destroy the Federation because I'm afraid they're going to hurt me? Lady, that's the most insane thing I've ever heard! If I was afraid of them, I'd be running _away _from them, not _to _them!" He laughed in her face. She refused to be provoked. She would not be driven away like some ninny, brought to anger by a willful boy. 

"Ah, but that's where the distinction lies. You're not afraid for yourself. You're afraid for the others. For the colonists. You're afraid of what will happen to _them_."

Silence. She'd hit a nerve._ That's right, kid. You're not as tough as you thought. I see right through that mask of yours. No use pretending with me!_

"Thank you, Ms. Pia, for your invaluable assistance," Dr. G's stumpy form abruptly detached itself from the shadows gathered in the unevenly lit hallway, plodding its way to their side, making nary a sound even on the metal floors. _What the-? How long has he been standing there? What's going on here? _She stared hawkishly at his gnarled face and something told her that she had just been used. _A tool...? I am but a tool to him? And what of this boy? Is he a tool, as well?_

Dr. G ignored her resentful glare and approached the focus of his concerns, the now-shaken stowaway. "You do realize that you've declared yourself the sacrificial lamb, kid. You've decided to martyr yourself for people who don't even know you're alive. That's damned brave and damned admirable. But it's also damned foolish."

"Why?" Duo looked white-faced, shocked, aware that he was being assaulted on all fronts. He had backed himself into a corner and, unlike on the streets where he'd once lived, the knife would offer him no protection. The arena he occupied was far too large... the opposition far too deadly.

Dr. G looked rather amused at his question, a smile toying at the corner of his lips. "Because what would your death accomplish? You'd die for your cause, but what effect would your death have in the grand scheme of things? None. None at all. How could it? No one knows who you are. No one knows what your cause is. You're just one person, kid. Just a skinny kid with a knife."

"I don't care. I don't wanna be a hero. I just wanna do what I think is right," he stated firmly, meeting the scientist's gaze before dropping his eyes once more. "I won't do it, old man. I won't abandon what I believe in." His words lacked strength, however, and he suddenly seemed to be asking a question rather than making a concrete declaration. He was pale, he was shaking, he was still clutching the goddamn knife, but he was coming around to reason. Pia nodded her head in satisfaction, despite her disapproval of Dr. G's actions.

"No one's asking you to give up your beliefs, kid." The scientist sincerely assured him. He rubbed his protruding nose absently, as though scratching an itch that was more imagined than real. "Never that."

"Then what're you asking?" Duo seemed too tired to fully express his suspicion, his body drooping before their eyes. His shoulders dropped and he looked determined to shrink into himself. Pia became aware that a battle had just been waged and with his defeat the boy was surrendering something major. _I just how he knows what he's giving up. And why._

Dr. G stepped forward, holding his hands out to the boy as if to embrace him. His voice was candid, his manner open, his honesty plain. "We ask that you trust us. And let us help you. Let us teach you and make you strong. We'll aide one another and work together to protect the colonies. We'll make it so that even one person can change the universe." His eyes blazed with pride.

"But...?" The boy did not look convinced.

"But what?" 

"But what're you asking me to do?" Tired. Resigned. _He's completely lost. He'll give us whatever we ask... what *are* we asking?!_

Dr. G stood directly before the shaken youth. Although he was careful not to touch the boy directly, the look that passed between them made it clear that some connection had been made. _He... he *claimed* him. That's the only way to put it. He's claimed that boy's life! And the boy agreed! What... what is going on here?!_

But the mad scientist was speaking, his manner suddenly relaxed. Casually, he wrapped an arm around Duo's narrow shoulders, drawing the boy close to his side. He met no resistance. "What do we ask? Your cooperation. Your trust. Your commitment. But first of all, your knife. You no longer have need of it."

**********************

It was a huge adjustment, at first, accustoming himself to Dr. G's strictly regimented days. He'd grown accustomed to regulating his own actions, choosing for himself what and when he did things. It was a bit of a shock to have someone suddenly take his autonomy away, but he'd dealt with it before, when he'd entered the orphanage. Only then, Duo recalled, he hadn't accepted the loss of his freedom so liberally. Not that he was being so gracious about the loss now, either...

"Aww, come on, G. Just a little longer," he pleaded from beneath the comfortable warmth of his blankets. "I just want another few minutes." 

The scientist scowled from the open doorway of Duo's room, displeasure obvious. "I gave you 'another few minutes' an hour ago. It's time to train and it's time to train now! I'm tired of your shenanigans!"

"When do I ever ask ya for anything? Come on, just this once!" Duo implored, twisting on his bed so he faced the scientist. The covers rucked across his legs as he grinned hopefully. "Please?"

"Kid..." Dr. G was exasperated. "We have no time for this! Put it down and get dressed! The day is wasting!"

"Jeez. Fine. See if I ever ask for a favor from _you _again," Duo muttered, laying down the engrossing astrophysics textbook and climbing out of bed.

*****************

"What? Finished already?" Vern was amazed. He looked up from the cluttered work bench he was inspecting, an array of projects in various stages of repair scattered before him. As the head mechanic on the Sweeper ship, it was amongst his responsibilities to oversee all repairs being made, ensuring that they were executed correctly. Recently, though, Dr. G had added another task to his list of orders: to teach the stowaway, Duo Maxwell, all he knew of mechanics and repairs. He'd accepted the assignment without relish, not looking forward to the job at all. It was ridiculous to expect a child to absorb a lifetime's worth of knowledge practically overnight. Still, Dr. G was Dr. G. He always got what he wanted. Who was he to refuse?

Their first session together had begun on a rather nondescript note; he'd shown the boy a number of electronic devices, explaining their construction, and then a set of tools, showing how they could be utilized to make repairs. He'd fully expected to be confronted with a barrage of questions and a confession of overwhelmed confusion. However, Vern had quickly discovered that as quickly as he imparted knowledge, Duo absorbed it. The kid seemed to have a photographic memory and he could remember with a glance exactly how something was put together. Vern had to show him but once how an item was constructed and the kid could build it from scratch. Pretty damned impressive, in his opinion. The boy was a natural mechanic. After two months of instruction, he could properly identify, build, and completely repair every piece of equipment the spaceship harbored. Vern recognized a valuable asset when he saw one and abandoned the pretense of lessons, instead allowing the boy to work in the repair shop alongside the Sweepers. Eager to prove himself, the kid had attacked his jobs with gusto, his fingers flying through each repair, unaware of the impossibility of his actions. _Kid doesn't even know he's goddamn brilliant._

But this... this was just absurd. There was no way he could already have finished the tasks Vern had set before him, mechanical genius or not. The quick-fingered Asian frowned suspiciously at Duo's nonchalant expression. He'd never known the boy to shirk his responsibilities; if anything, the kid was an out-and-out perfectionist, but there was a first time for everything. "You finished _all _of it?" he dubiously asked.

"Yep! Anything else ya need me to do? Dr. G is waiting." The boy shifted his weight impatiently.

"Hold on a second, kiddo. Show me what you've done," Vern ordered, fully expecting to discover the lad was attempting to skip out on his work. _I gave him at least five hours work and he's barely been here forty-five minutes. There's no freaking way he could be done, not unless he did a half-assed job._

"Sure thing, boss. No problem." Duo led the way through the maze of work stations until he reached his own table, marked by the tall stool that Duo perched upon while he worked. The table was uncomfortably tall for the boy's slight frame and obviously had been designed for a much taller man, such as those who quietly worked around them. There were four other mechanics in the room and, although they appeared single-mindedly focused on their work, Vern knew it was a studied disinterest. They were well aware of what was going on. 

Closely examining the montage of equipment neatly spread across the table's surface, Vern felt his face go slack with disbelief. There was no doubt in his mind that each machine was repaired flawlessly. "But... how..." the black-haired man floundered for words. Coherence eluded him. He felt four sets of eyes slowly settle on his shoulders. The other men knew what the kid had done and didn't want to miss his reaction. 

Duo shifted restlessly, unaware that he was the source of Vern's stunned amazement, but knowing that he was suddenly the center of attention. "Can I go? Dr. G said to report back to him as soon as I was done, but if there's something else..." Duo left his words hanging, ready to stay if Vern required his assistance.

"Uh, no. That was all." Vern pulled himself together, picking up a complicated carbon fuser with reverent hands. _Perfect... it's absolutely perfect._

"Alright. See ya Friday, guys!" Duo departed, waving good-bye as he disappeared from the repair shop, obviously glad to escape the staring eyes of the Sweepers.

"Un-freaking-believable," Vern muttered. He looked up, staring at the grinning faces of the four mechanics. "It's just not normal!" 

No one voiced disagreement.

*****************

"Goddamn!" He flung his hand out violently, dashing the black and white chess pieces off the checkered board. "Stop doing that! Play the game!"

Duo glared across the table at Reinhardt, ship's navigator and the newest addition to his growing collection of personal tutors. The stern German was hard-bodied and muscled, with closely cropped blonde hair and ice cold blue eyes. He was the epitome of Hitler's Wunder Mann, if Duo's history lessons hadn't been in error, and had a mind as keen as a well-sharpened knife. They had been working together for several months, meeting twice a week at a small table in the ship's recreation room. While sometimes they would discuss the latest news clips broadcasting over the vid screens, usually their sessions were reserved for chess. Although Duo had thus far excelled at all of his lessons, it seemed that his weakness had finally been exposed. As Reinhardt was willing to tell anyone who would listen, the boy was hopeless at the strategic game. He'd yet to defeat the German even once and both were growing more than a little frustrated with his inability to grasp the game's concept.

Today's lesson was no exception. Duo had been playing badly as usual, seeming to give the board only half his attention and none of his intellect. He made moves without regard to their consequences, treating each of his pieces as an individual rather than a set. Reinhardt had told him his mistakes time and again and yet he persisted in repetitively making the same, invariable errors. Finally, the German had lost his temper and snapped, scattering the chess set from the table. The plastic pieces now drifted around the room, suspend in the air, their mass insufficient to counteract the weak gravity. 

"That was the worst game you've played to date, dummkopf," [2] Reinhardt spat. "Why do you resist me? Why do you disregard my words?" 

"Face it, Reinhardt! I'm just not cut out for this! My mind doesn't work that way," Duo shot back, bordering on insolence. "I can't do it! Get over it!"

"Can't or won't?" demanded the blonde navigator. "You are far from stupid, young one. This game should be cream to your cat! [3] Forget what you know and learn to see the game for what it is!"

"Look, Super Man, I work alone. I've always worked alone. I operate on one setting: solo. I don't look at all those pieces and see a set. I see a mess. I see liabilities. I see the weak being sacrificed for the strong. Why the hell is the Queen in the back, anyway? If she's so powerful, why ain't she out front, protecting the weak? I'm telling you, this game is a crock and I don't like it! You got that?" It was obvious that Duo had made this speech many times before. It was also obvious that it had been as ineffectually delivered as it was now. His audience was not moved.

"Stupid boy! Do you still not see after all this time?! The pawn can defeat the Queen as surely as the Queen can defeat the pawn!" The German slammed his hands down on the table, half-standing in exasperation.

"Only if the pawn is goddamn lucky!" Duo rose as well, leaning forward across the table, blue eyes sparking with some unidentifiable emotion.

Aware that they were drawing stares from the room's other occupants, Reinhardt lowered his voice when he continued. "And skill is not a factor? Can the pawn not use his wits to infiltrate the Queen's defenses?"

"Only if there was a flaming miracle!" Duo snapped cynically.

Two pairs of blue eyes locked for an infinite second. Then Reinhardt dropped his lids with a sigh. Rubbing his forehead, he began slowly gathering the floating chess pieces. "This is getting us nowhere. I do not feel there is any point in continuing today's lesson. I am tired of going around in circles with you. You refuse to learn. You refuse to see sense. You refuse to see that which is right before your eyes." Snagging the last drifting piece -a white pawn- he turned back to Duo, facing the boy's rigid form. "Please inform Dr. G that I will no longer be available for tutoring sessions. He will have to find another to wrestle with your stupidity." He turned to go, leaving the chess set abandoned on the table.

"Reinhardt?" Duo hesitantly called after him. The tall man paused, cocking his head in the boy's direction. "I... I'm sorry I can't be better. But I can't be something I'm not."

"Are you so sure of what you are? Are you so confident that your perceptions of yourself ring true?" With those enigmatic words hanging in the air between them, Reinhardt left the room, his body moving with a grace strange to observe from a body so large. Duo watched him as he went, lip bit in indecision. Reaching over his shoulder, he drew his braid forward, clutching the plaited hair in shaking hands.

****************

Duo stood in the hall outside Dr. G's lab, shuffling his feet in uncertainty. His motions were fidgety, his manner indecisive. He appeared to be considering a matter of some gravity, twisting the end of his braid about his fingers and chewing on his lip. Sighing in resignation, he squared his shoulders and straightened his back, knocking hesitantly on the closed door before him. 

"Dr. G? Can I come in?" he called, his voice a bit strained and high pitched.

"Enter!" the barked reply was muffled by the thick walls.

Keying the entrance open, Duo gently pushed off the floor and floated into the room, the door snipping shut behind him. Looking around the cluttered lab, he searched for his keeper amongst beakers, books, and datapads, all the physical evidence of the scientist's ingenious mind. Despite several blazing Bunsen burners, the man he sought was nowhere to be found.

"What do you want, boy?" the voice spoke seemingly from nowhere, yet was paradoxically everywhere at once. Duo shivered and inwardly wished he hadn't come.

"I.. I have to ask a favor!" he forced himself to say, willing his voice not to break.

"What is it?" Dr. G wasted no words, his tone suggesting that he was in the middle of something important.

"My clothes don't fit and they're falling apart. I need new ones," Duo reluctantly admitted. 

"Fine. Tell Gwen. She'll find someone's castoffs. You can wear those."

"Errrr... that's why I need the favor. I don't need just any clothes. I need _these _clothes." He gestured to his frayed priest's garb, which had long since faded to gray. The shirt was missing several buttons and the pants legs were far too short. The white undershirt had dulled to a grayish-yellow. It was obvious that the outfit had seen far better days.

"Don't be absurd. You'll wear what you're given." Dr. G snorted from his personal limbo. 

Duo directed his stubborn frown to the room at large. "No. I won't. I will wear _these_. Only these." His tone left no room for argument. It was apparent that that if he did not receive new clothes, he would simply continue to wear the old ones until he could replace them himself.

There was silence for a long moment. Then-

"Very well. Report to Gwen. She'll require your measurements." A pause. "I assume you'll need new shoes as well?"

"Uh, if it's not too much trouble..."

"I don't suppose you'd be willing to lower yourself and wear a common man's boots?"

"No, that'd be fine," Duo said in an embarrassed voice. 

"Good. Because otherwise you'd be walking barefoot on some very cold floors. Now leave me alone!"

**************

"Well, Duo, you're much more fit than you were a year ago," Dr. Pollock concluded with professional approval. "Despite the ship's gravity, your muscle tone is greatly improved, no doubt due to Pia's excellent training, and your bone density seems to be increasing. You've also gained twelve pounds, though you're still too thin." He frowned. "And I've yet to determine exactly how much of your weight is contributed by your braid. Still, overall, you're coming along wonderfully!" He glanced down at his charts. "I think we've caught you up on your vaccinations, too, but I'm going to give you a tetanus booster just to be on the safe side. As skilled as I've heard you are at repairs, accidents do occasionally happen."

"So all systems are go?" Duo asked with a grin, leaning eagerly forward on the examination table. He raised his eyebrows in anticipation.

The physician returned his smile openly. "Looking good, kid!"

From where he listened unobserved, Dr. G nodded his head with satisfaction. "Finally, his real training can begin. Prepare yourself, Duo Maxwell. Between you and I, we might just save the colonies yet."

****

-Fin-

Footnotes:

[1] The legacy of "Mary Poppins," I firmly believe, will never die. 

[2] literally, "stupid head." Just one German equivalent of "idiot."

[3] I don't know if this is a common expression, but my German teacher used to say it an awful lot.

Author's Aside: Phew. Finished... although I can't say I'm entirely pleased with the way this turned out. I feel a few issues were left unresolved, but suspect it's just my own nitpicking. You be the judge. If I have left gaping plot holes, please let me know so I can either add additional notes or make revisions. Thanks for your help!

P.S.: I just read this over in completion and realized there's a heck of a lot of symbolism! Wow! Go, Muses! I also realized the word "eye" (or some variation there of) is used quite frequently -49 times to be precise, not counting this note. Well, I guess that's unavoidable, for eyes _are _said to be the gateway to the soul!


	5. Battle Armor

****

Thank you to everyone who's reviewed! I appreciate the feedback. 

Disclaimer: not mine.

Author's Notes: This is the fic that wouldn't end. It just goes on and on, my friend. Some baka started writing it intending a one shot. And she'll continue writing it forever 'cause she's caught...

Read this like you would a newspaper. Look FAR between the lines. 

Big gaps between paragraphs are supposed to be the passage of time, as though Duo were sitting there staring at his journal for extended periods, but not actually writing anything.

Why Duo writes as if he's addressing Dr. G.: I chose to do this because, judging from the series, he doesn't talk back to the man. He may gripe, he may complain, but he _always _does what G says without hesitation. He mostly trusts him, yet I'm certain he still has his doubts and questions. What better place to resolve those than in a journal? Since G seems to know him better than he knows himself, it makes sense that he'd be the force to makes Duo keep one. Eliminate the problem before there _is _a problem. 

I pictured Duo as using a datapad-type journal, but if you want to picture him writing, that works, too.

Warnings: None.

****

Battle Armor

AC193, 05, 16

Dr. G is making me write this. Says it'd be good for me to have something that's really my own. He seems to think that if you grow up with nothing, you'll become materialistic the second circumstances change. Yeah, sure. Okay. For so brilliant a guy, he can be pretty dim at times. 

I hope I can get through the rest of today without flipping out. He really pissed me off.

Damn. What kind of a moronic idea _is _that? When you grow up not knowing if you're gonna wake up the next morning you really don't care how many pairs of socks ya own! And when you're living in a orphanage you learn to share what little there is pretty damn quick. I don't think keeping a stupid journal is going to undo a lifetime worth of experience! I don't need some stupid _thing _to make me feel "normal."

You probably just want me to write this so you can sneak a peak later. Pervert.

But that isn't fair. You're creepy, you're weird, and you're probably insane, but you _are _pretty damned trustworthy. Not that you're above manipulating the hell out of me when it suits your purposes, but you haven't lied to me so far. I appreciate that in a person.

What're you supposed to write in a journal anyway?

This is so pointless.

****

AC193, 05, 20

I want my clothes back, you bastard. If we were anywhere civilized, I'd report you to the child protection agency. This is just... wrong! I have my pride, dammit!

Okay, okay, I know where you're going with this. I know I'm gonna be in a space suit a lot of the time I'm piloting. I know I have to be comfortable in the thing. I know I have to get used to moving in it and how it pinches your joints and the miserable way it chafes your neck. I know I have to be able to get it on and off in a second. I get that. What I _don't _get is why it was necessary for you to confiscate my normal clothes. What, are you afraid I'll steal the suit and runaway? Where the hell would I go? On an evening stroll? You've got this ship floating around in the middle of nowhere! 

I don't know why I trust you. You're sick. I hope you choke on your nose.

****

AC193, 05, 20

You could have _told _me it was easier to get used to a space suit if you're not wearing layers. Would that have been so hard? Would it have been so impossible to say, "Duo, if you wear the suit over your normal clothes it's going to be rather binding and make movements more difficult that they already are. We'll get you used to the suit itself and then let you try it over your clothes." But no! I had to find out from Pia! And she nearly laughed her ass off! Jeez. I wouldn't have been complaining if I'd known there was a reason for it! Now I feel like an idiot.

And, ah, yeah. Thanks for sending my clothes to the laundry. I'm sorry I thought you'd hidden them. Maybe I kinda deserved to feel like an idiot.

****

AC193, 05, 28

You're enjoying this, aren't you? I think you like to make me angry. I think you get a kick out of it. You probably laugh for hours afterwards just _thinking _about it. You probably get off on getting me pissed. And you do it so insufferably well. Blue ribbon for Duo-baiting is hereby awarded to the sadistic scientist with the big-ass hair! Come on down and accept your award!

Laugh all you want. I'll bet you didn't do so well the first time you shot a gun, either... although I guess you probably did better than me. You could've warned me about the kick, though. Maybe then I would've had a chance to brace myself and it wouldn't've slammed me into the wall. Serves you right if I'm too sore to train tomorrow. Who'll have the last laugh then?

****

AC193, 06, 14

What. Was. That. I have _never _seen you so angry. I thought you _wanted _me to do what you said. I thought you were sick of arguing with me about every little thing. I thought you'd _like _it if I went along with your ideas without question. Instead you smacked me in the head with your clipboard and started muttering incoherently. What did I do?!!!!

As if that wasn't bad enough, now you're _throwing _shit at me at all times of the day. I can't even relax when I'm in my room, anymore, without wondering if a book or a wrench or something's gonna come shooting out of nowhere. It's getting hard to concentrate. I keep wondering when you're going to strike next!! Jeez, all the guys have noticed how jumpy I am. Vern won't let me use the welder anymore 'cause he's afraid I'm gonna fry someone's hair off -especially my own. 

By the way, thanks for letting me keep it. I know you wanted to give me a haircut the second you saw me. I'm glad you understand how much it means to me. It's all I have of the past, you know? I may not know who I am or where I'm from, but at least I have some proof of where I've been. Something more than memories.

But anyway, back to the projectile paraphernalia. That is _so _not fair! And you got me good this morning. Damn near knocked my arm off with that one. Don't worry; Dr. Pollock says the bruise you left will be gone in a few days. You're gonna have to stop smacking me with things, G. It's getting harder and harder to say those bruises are a part of my training. You know how I feel about lying... not that that's a lie, precisely, but it's _definitely _skirting the truth. Especially when I'm not really sure how it _does _fit into my training.

****

AC193, 07, 25

Come on, G, do I _really _have to start writing in this thing again? How the hell did you even figure out I'd stopped, anyway? I know you didn't read it. Made sure of that myself. I wasn't a thief for so long for nothing! I can pick every lock or break every code there is and that goes for making 'em, too! There's no way in hell you hacked this thing. If you had, I'd know it. You're good, but I'm better.... I think. I hope. 

Umm. I guess I'd better start being more generous in my portrayal of you, huh? Just in case.

Screw it. If you read this, you deserve what you get.

So... what's been going on since the last time I wrote... I figured out why you were chucking stuff at me: combat training. Re-creation of a battlefield environment. Be prepared for everything, be able to function under duress, constantly be on edge, learn to ignore pain, etc. etc. Now that I know what your purpose is, it's a lot easier to dodge. I'm not all distracted with the "whys." 

I'm glad I realized what you were up to before you beaned me a good one. Damn, G, when ya gonna learn? I grew up on the street. You don't have to _teach _me that shit! Not that I don't appreciate a little refresher course -it has been years- but that isn't the type of stuff you forget. When you gonna realize that? The past is not over and done with. It's here with us every second of the day.

I'm getting sick of the food you've got them feeding me. Not that I'm complaining, exactly. I'll eat whatever you put in front of me. But could I please have something besides high-protein foods once in a while? It's getting kind of boring. The occasional piece of chicken or bowl of cereal wouldn't be too much to ask, huh? Well, I guess the cereal is out of the question, with the ship's gravity and all, but, still. As much as I appreciate eating, a little variety is nice, too. 

Speaking of food... it really bothers me the way some of the guys waste it. They're constantly taking more than they can eat and then just throwing the excess away. That's not easy to watch, you know? Can't you ship the leftovers to L2 or something? I can think of plenty of people there who wouldn't turn their nose up at an overcooked pork chop.

****

AC193, 08, 09

I'm really starting to miss the days when I bounced from lesson to lesson. Being with you all day gets a bit tiresome. The only time I leave your side is when I've got to eat, sleep, use the john, help Vern with repairs, or when you're making me write this. The only one of my old teachers who I see anymore is Reinhardt and he's still as big of a pain as ever. I thought he'd ended my lessons with him, anyway. When did that change?! Why does nobody tell me anything? Now I'm eating dinner with him everyday in front of the vid screens. He's always making these strange little comments and asking me if I know who I am yet while he stuffs himself full of steak and spinach. Freak.

Okay, I take that back. He's actually pretty cool when he's not throwing chess pieces all over the place. And I like talking current events with him. He makes me see how everything affects everything else. That's damned fascinating! It's like we're all connected. It does make it harder to understand the conflict between the earth and the colonies, though. Can't they see what's happening to them?!

****

AC193, 08, 16

Boy, G, when you said you were intensifying the lessons, you didn't joke around, huh? I've never been so tired in my entire life and that's saying a lot. dfvfrgffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvf [1]

Whoa. Dozed off for a min. Sleep now; write later. 

****

AC193, 08, 30

I liked playing around in the propulsion chair today. That was fun! I think I did better than you expected, too, because you didn't yell at me as much as usual. Although you did get a little upset when I did a barrel roll. Hey, I have to learn to trust the harnesses, too, right?! Oh, and thanks for making me wear a helmet. 

I've been thinking, G, and I realized something. This is the first time in my life when I've been positive there was going to be food on the table. It's the first time I knew there was enough water to go around. It's the first chance I've had to act like a kid and not worry about getting myself or anyone killed or hurt. It's weird. I've been responsible for myself and others for so long. Now all of a sudden you hold my fate in your hands. That's.... hard to swallow. I don't like it. No one is responsible for Duo Maxwell but Duo Maxwell, got it?!!!!!

But it's a little late to regret things now. I guess I'll just have to deal with it.

****

AC193, 09, 10

This journal thing is starting to grow on me. I think I understand what you're up to with this one. If I'm writing down what's bothering me and what I'm thinking about, I'm not keeping it all inside. I'm dealing with it and learning to think about emotions in a logical manner. It's getting easier not to fly off the handle when you pull some lame trick out of your ass. I'm even learning not to talk so much when I'm nervous or stressed or upset or whatever. Hey, maybe one day I won't talk at all!!!

Yeah, and one day Reinhardt will wear ruffles.

So, anyway, now that I have this journal I can write things down and think about them for a bit before I get all worked up. I like that. It's different from what I've been doing. I've been flying by the seat of my pants for so long, it's nice to be able to relax and think before acting for once. And, wow! Lo and behold! When I'm not making snap judgments I'm actually pretty laid back! 

Bad thing about learning to relax is that when you get all tense again, you notice.

****

AC193, 09, 29

Okay, G, I think it's safe to say I've mastered the propulsion chair. Can we move onto something else now? I'm getting a little bored with hovering around in the docking berth. Have I graduated yet or what?!

I've never been this far from the moon before. It doesn't look as ugly as it did from L2. But then, _everything _looks ugly from there.

Except Earth.

****

AC193, 10, 08

I think I'm going to have to make you a list of all the things I already know how to do. That way you don't keep wasting your time trying to teach me things I figured out a long time ago. Sheesh. 

Okay, here we go: 

1. You do not have to teach me to read body language, facial expressions, or lips. You do not live very long on the streets unless you can tell what mood people are in and what they're talking about. 

2. You do not have to teach me evasion or hiding techniques. If you cannot successfully disappear after robbing someone blind, there's not much point in trying. 

3. You do not have to teach me stealth techniques. If you cannot fit into a crowd without notice, you never get close enough to someone to rob them at all. 

4. You do not have to teach me to pick conventional locks or hack digital locks. I've been doing that since I can remember. 

5. You do not have to teach me the element of surprise. I've always had bad timing and it's basically the same thing.

6. You do not have to teach me to manipulate people's emotions. I may choose not to, but that doesn't mean I can't. I've sweet-talked my way out of sticky situations many times before.

7. You do not have to teach me the art of disguise. I don't exactly know who _I_ am, right now, so pretending to be someone else isn't much of a stretch.

I'm too tired to think of anything else. Rest assured that I'll inform you the next time you're being a bonehead.

****

AC193, 10, 14

Today was... different. I've never seen myself in a mirror before. Sure, I've seen my reflection in puddles and windows and stuff, but I never really paid attention. And while the school used to have these teeny, warped mirrors hanging over the bathroom sinks, they were as busted as the rest of the place. I never looked in the things, anyway. I mean, what was the point? What was I going to see? Bloody Mary? [2] Who cares what I look like?! How is knowing _that _going to change anything? It doesn't make a difference. None at all. I've gotten this far without knowing. Sure, things haven't been fun, but that's not 'cause I've never looked in a goddamn mirror. Shit happens and knowing how I look isn't going to change a thing. 

But now that I _have _seen myself, I'm walking around thinking about how I look all the time. And that's annoying! Because I don't even care! And I can't stop wondering what other people see when they look at me! How do I know if I look good or bad?! Damn you, G! Now I'm all self-conscious!

It felt like I was looking at someone else's face. It didn't feel like I was looking at me. That's... not what I see in my mind when I think of Duo Maxwell.

I wonder what Sister Helen and Father Maxwell saw when they looked at me? 

I wonder what _he _saw?

I didn't realize I smiled so much. I even smile when I'm mad.... I smile _more _when I'm mad.

I never knew my eyes were so big. I look like that startled deer that was in my ecology textbooks. Like I'm going to run at any second. 

I can understand now why people used to think I was a girl. I'll admit that when I was a kid, I must've looked like one. Not anymore, though, even with all the hair. Be thankful for small favors, I guess. 

I just... I didn't know I looked so.... young. Because I sure don't feel that way.

I don't think I like mirrors.

****

AC193, 10, 31

"A new civilization is emerging in our lives, and blind men everywhere are trying to suppress it." Reinhardt said that tonight at dinner. We were sitting in front of the vid screens, watching the news broadcasts, eating as usual. He had his steak and spinach, I had my protein-rich meal bar, he was wound up about politics, I was exhausted and half-dozing, and all was normal. Then, right in the middle of a report about Alliance negotiations, he came out with that. When he said it I just kind of grunted, but now that I've had a chance to mull it over....

People are really afraid of change, huh? They seem to think that all changes are for the worse, that they're gonna get screwed over unless things stay the same. They want things to stay exactly the way they are, but they're always rushing around trying to change things anyway. They say they're trying to make things better. To build faster shuttles. To design more efficient manufacturing plants. To create superior medical procedures. They're always trying to change themselves, to make life better for everyone, and yet they're fighting themselves every step of the way. They put restrictions on their inventions, limiting who can afford to use them. They make laws and do checks, impose rules and then fail to enforce them. They make a big deal about everything, at least until the next big concept comes along. Then all is forgotten and they move onto their new toy.

Why do people think these things matter so much? Why don't they just appreciate that they're alive? Why don't they just enjoy themselves while they can? People on Earth don't understand things at all. They live down there in their sheltered little bubble, with their ancient buildings and outdated perspectives. They've lived in comfort for so long they forget that life on the colonies isn't like that. They forget that, even though they have a warm house and plenty of food and water, not everyone does. That some people, living thousands of miles above them, go to bed at night praying the air filters don't break down and suffocate them in their sleep. They don't consider that on the colonies, life isn't guaranteed. It isn't preserved by the natural ecosystem. It's manmade and things made by men have a tendency to fall apart. They just go about their happy little lives, doing their best to wring every available resource out of the colonies above them. They don't look at the stars and see beauty. They see dollar signs. They see the next new toy.

I know not all Earth people are like that. . It just seems like all the ones who matter _are_.

I guess I'm tired. I didn't realize how bitter this sounded until I was done. It's funny, really, to get so worked up over one stupid comment. 

But I can't laugh, not tonight, not even at myself. Tonight I can't even pretend to smile.

****

AC193, 11, 13

You finally introduced me to Deathscythe, today. When you let me into the cockpit... I don't know how to say it, G, but it was like I... belonged. It just felt like what we were doing was so _right_. Like as long as I had Deathscythe, everything was going to be okay. 

I don't know if I'll ever say this out loud, but thank you. 

****

AC193, 12, 13

It's been exactly a month since I've made any entries. I just haven't needed to. I've been sitting in Deathscythe every day, learning where the controls are and how to read the console. I've been... calm. When I'm sitting in his cockpit, it's like I'm not a part of the world. I feel like I'm almost asleep. I completely relax. Weird, that a machine designed to kill could make me feel so tranquil.

You promised me that once I learn the controls I would take Scythe out into space for more training lessons. I hope I don't have to wait too much longer. We both know I've got his control panel down pat.

And now I'm nervous. What if I can't do it? What if I can't control him? What if he gets away from me and I accidentally ruin the ship? 

I couldn't live with that.

****

AC193, 12, 15

Piloting Scythe is a lot different from sitting in him. _That _makes me calm. Piloting makes me... hyper-vigilant. It's like all of a sudden there's so much more to the world. It seems bigger and freer and more open. And I'm part of it.

Even though I didn't really get to use the controls, today was amazing. Just floating around for an hour was more than enough. I don't think I could have done anything, anyway. I was too busy just breathing.

****

  
AC194, 01, 03

Every day is just more and more mind-boggling. Scythe is so graceful. He's just incredible. He moves just how I want him to. It's not even a struggle! When you let us out of the hangar and we drift out into space, I feel so... alive. I'm not Duo, the mooching street rat. I'm Duo, the Gundam pilot. The _talented _Gundam pilot. Even you admit that I'm good at this. 

I like being good at something that matters.

****

AC194, 01, 11

If I wasn't in shape before, I am now. Scythe sure pilots a lot differently when he's got a weapon. His center of balance is different and he's harder to keep upright. I'm learning to go with the momentum, but it's disorienting and exhausting. Swinging that scythe around all day is a killer! My arms feel like _they're _made of gundam, instead of Scythe's. Heh. A scythe for Scythe. He he.

I'm going to bed.

****

AC194, 01, 24

If I ever hear the words "target practice" again, I'm going to shoot someone. Now that I can. 

Damn. Is that one of those catch 22 things?

After spending so long training with Scythe, it was damn cruel of you to yank me back to defense training. I don't care _how _gravity sick I am. I'd rather be puking in Scythe than shooting guns or learning hand-to-hand combat techniques with Pia. This totally sucks. 

Besides, I already _know _how to street fight. That's good enough for me. But, no! Pia says that while that's great for my offense, for my defense I have to know standard techniques. Then I can recognize when they're being used on me and effectively counteract them. Damn logical bitch. I don't need to be able to predict when someone's gonna kick me. I'll know soon enough! I guess it is a good idea to know pressure points and stuff, though. That might come in handy if things got a little rough.

I do definitely need more practice with the guns, though. One of the things I learned on L2 was to avoid guns like the plague. (ouch. bad pun.) The authorities would go easy on you if you weren't armed. The second your prints were found on a gun, you could kiss your ass good-bye. I never even _held _a gun before this, let alone shot one. So, yeah, I do need some more practice. I can usually hit what I'm aiming at, now, but I'd like a little more accuracy. I'm pretty good with the pistol, but the rifles are another story. They're pretty hard to control, especially in rapid fire mode. They jerk all over the place.

But yes, thanks to you I can now not only identify about a hundred different types of weapons, I can also correctly disassemble, clean, and reassemble the vast majority of them. I know about three different hand-to-hand fighting techniques --for both gravity and non-gravity environments-- and can build a cornucopia of explosive devices. I can rig traps, I can memorize floor plans at a glance, I can carry my own weight in equipment. I can hack into any operating system, I can read satellite images, I can interpret beta scripting. I know basic first aid, I can stitch up a wound evenly, I can apply a pressure tourniquet or a splint. I can navigate through space with nary a landmark, I can distinguish between different mobile suits and ships with a glance, I can read Morse code. I know how to thwart torture techniques, I can interpret incomplete data, I can even dress myself!!! Wow! I can I can do all this _and _the shit I already knew. You have taught me well. Now can I _please _get back to Scythe?!! 

****

AC194, 02, 06

You told me today that soon I wouldn't have time for this journal. You said that I would be far too occupied to write in a stupid book. You called it a worthless project and regretted you had made me waste my time.

I dunno, I think you were wrong about that. I don't think this was a waste of time, at all. 

I'm starting to see myself when I look in the mirror.

I don't know what we're going to be doing for the next few months or so, but I can tell you're upset about something. Your eyes have been doing that twitchy thing and you keep rubbing at your knuckles like you do when they hurt. And they only hurt when you've been staying up all night working. And if you're staying up all night working, that means something is _majorly _wrong. I hope you let me in on it before you wear yourself down. Let me know what the problem is. Then I can help you fix it.

That's one thing you've tried to teach me: identify the problem, consider your choices, muster your allies (whatever they may be), and then attack all opposition mercilessly. Quick, concise, to the point. At least in theory.

I dunno, G. I still wonder. What happens when there is no clear problem? What happens when your choices are gone and you can't tell your allies from your opposition? Isn't showing mercy better than killing in cold blood? 

I don't know what you've got planned, G. I just hope you know what you're doing.

****

-Fin-

Footnotes:

[1] I actually laid my face down on the keyboard. This is what came out.

[2] A game this tortuous and scarring is _sure _to have survived the ages. After all, spandex did.


	6. Whited Sepluchers Prequel

Disclaimer: If wishes were fishes, I could walk to Japan and buy them.... although I don't know what I'd do with them.

Author's Notes: This is a prologue to the "Soul Forge" series. I wasn't certain I wanted to delve into this subject matter, but something in me just wouldn't let the story go. 

Though the gang's dialogue was originally written in dialect, it proved rather confusing. I was forced to revert back to conventional spellings for coherency's sake, though some easily understandable word-mangling remains.

If you've read "Heart of Darkness," you'll recognize the title and understand its implications. If not, you can figure it out without trouble.

Warnings: a bit of language. implied abuse.

****

Whited Sepulchers

Every city has its dirty little secrets. Those hidden truths that the idealistic don't admit to and the demented revel wantonly in, wrapping the wretchedness about their shoulders, embracing it as a lover. Those back alleys and hidden nooks, crowded with unseeing eyes and intertwining shadows, those crannies that shelter life's most latent realities. Most people never realize these places exist. Others never know anything else.

The L2 colony. It hung in the endless space, an atrocity amongst the stars, an eternal ring of squalor, a man-made loop of poverty. The perfect place to hide if one did not wish to be found. The perfect dumping place for certain obstacles barring the paths of ruthless men. A locale that might well be deemed the end of the universe. Many things entered the colony; people, drugs, weapons, merchandise of dubious repute; yet little was sent out in return. L2; the colony that ate its youth.

Sepulcher. [1] A city segment in the colony's western side. Dilapidated office buildings dwarfing squalid, abandoned warehouses and burnt-out tenements. Boarded-up restaurants, ransacked businesses. Once a bustling hub of commerce, now crippled by time, outdated and under-funded. Success had turned her fickle eyes elsewhere, leaving the empty shells of prosperity in her wake.

Streets thick with garbage, gutters clogged with the remnants of too many people's lives. Pamphlets, fast food wrappers, beer cans, soda cups, newspapers, and worse, all blowing through the avenues in a whirlwind of filth. Dirt wafting about all too freely, the constant drought causing the ground to crack and split, dust intruding into every crack and crevice. 

A virtual ghost town, unless a person knew where to direct their gaze.

A small market square, filled with rough plank stalls where the few remaining merchants sold their goods. Pawn shops squatting accommodatingly on nearly every corner. A small church that few bothered to visit. Numerous sleazy nightclubs. Dingy bars with flickering neon lights. Motels of questionable reputation and even more dubious companionship. Crack houses draped with anonymity. "Special interest" stores and services offering everything from companionship to timely deaths. A free clinic that was vandalized on a regular basis.

Sepulcher. A place where no one lived by choice. A place where one came with a purpose and departed as soon as possible, needs sated and addictions met. A place where one did _not _walk alone.

An abandoned apartment building. Two stories high, windows eclipsed by graffiti-slashed boards. A corroded fire-escape crawling up its side, a roof caved in from neglect and faulty workmanship. Front door seized shut with a rusty iron chain. A faded sign nailed next to the entrance, no longer legible except for one word: "Garden." A building that was largely overlooked, long since ravaged of respectability or interest. Just one more brittle edifice crumbling slowly under time's heavy hand.

Under the sheltering caress of the night-cycle, in the crisp and biting air, two small figures rapidly scaled the creaking fire-escape, their presence diminutive and unassuming. Clambering upward with an equal measure of both caution and haste, the two slips of shadow reached the ladder's top and slithered onto the fragmented roof, one quite plainly guiding the other. Skittering towards a jagged fissure in the roof's center, the lithe forms carefully swung their legs over the edge of the hole and dropped lightly downward, leaving no sign of their passing.

"'S this way," the taller boy said authoritatively, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. Taking off in a light trot, he progressed down the crumbling hallway, passing numerous closed doors. The smaller child scrambling to keep pace. Reaching a decrepit staircase of which half the planks cracked or decayed, the taller boy spared a piercing glance for his companion. "Careful. Steps 'r rotten." [2]

His words apparently a warning in more ways than one, he descended the stairs in a way that bespoke familiarity and much practice. The smaller child managed to reach the lower floor without incident, much to the other's disinterested surprise. 

"Not bad," he grunted appraisingly. "Might not've been a mistake, af'er all." 

The lower floor was much murkier than the other had been. The air hung more heavily, weighed down by cloying dust mites and sawdust from the construction's distressed frame. It was like breathing ash.

"C'mon." Navigating by instinct and experience, the boy took off into the shadows, heading for a location undisclosed. The other boy followed him closely, eyes straining to see through the near-tangible gloom. They seemingly crossed a large room and treaded down a short passageway, the outlines of various looming shapes mottling the darkness. Then, out of seemingly nowhere, a solid door appeared. A door painted white. A door with "Solo's" scrawled across it in childish print. 

The boy tapped the door three times in quick succession, lightly kicked it twice, and then tapped once more. A scuffling could be heard beyond the door, numerous locks turned, and then the door crept open a few cautious inches. Half a face and a shock of black hair peeked through the crack, the sole visible eye squinting for a moment before narrowing in suspicion. 

"And who," the face snidely demanded, "is that?"

"C'mon, Nabber, lemme in. It's just some pup I found on the street. Thought maybe we could take 'im in." The boy sounded exasperated and tense, his body abruptly strung tight. The smaller child shrank back instinctively, the shadows clotting around him.

Nabber's disapproval was quite evident. "Damn, Snips, we're not a fucking dog pound! You can't keep picking up every stray!" 

"Watch your mouth and let them in," a new voice demanded forcefully. Nabber abruptly disappeared and the door swung open. Snips grabbed his find's wrist and hauled him into the room, slamming the door shut behind them. Nabber quickly refastened all the locks.

The room was the exact antonym to the rest of the building. It was filled with life and energy, thrumming with the vigor that accompanies the presence of many young people. In various states of activity; of all shapes, sizes, and ages; three children were draped about the large area. Fluorescent lanterns hung from the ceiling in strategic locations, their steady lights glowing softly. Frayed blankets were strewn about one corner of the room, a few pieces of discarded clothing mingling amongst them. Against the far wall was a stack of crates, turned sideways so that they formed a make-shift network of shelves. The compartments held a montage of objects, some of them not immediately identifiable. But what drew the eye most about the room was the map that was sketched across an entire wall, a rendering that was easily recognizable as Sepulcher. 

As if by some unspoken command, the room's occupants stood and joined the four boys by the doorway. A motley group they were, by any standards. Seven altogether, not counting the new-comer, and none of them a day over eight. The children of drug-dealers and prostitutes, the abandoned and the mistreated, the forgotten and rejected, they were drawn together for survival, united by a single cause. They were the weak, but together they stood strong. 

"Whatcha found now, Snips?" a brown-eyed girl asked in a clipped tone. She looked to be about seven and was clad in loose, faded overalls and an oversized t-shirt. Her dark hair was pulled back with a band of cloth, obviously torn from a ruined article of clothing. 

"Wuzzit look like I found? A Feddie? [3] Jeez, Wheezy, yer gettin' dumber by the day," Snips jibed good-naturedly. Pulling his new find from behind his back, he shoved the child out for inspection. "He was out in the street, just sittin' in the road out in front of Remy's. I wasn't gonna say nothing, but then I saw he was too quiet-like. Sure nuff. Turned out they'd gotten 'im drunk for kicks. Prob'ly kicked 'im outside when he puked on their shoes."

"And what're we gonna do if someone comes lookin' for 'im?" an eight-year old boy of Asian descent snapped. 

Snips snorted. "Don' think that's gonna be a problem, Twist. Look at 'im!"

All eyes turned to the small figure. He looked to be about four or five, short and skinny, obviously untended to. His body was in a condition that could not be achieved overnight. It seemed he had never had a decent meal in his life. His cheeks were rounded with baby-fat, but the rest of the body was thin as a rail. Long, brown locks fell across his face in matted, lank strands, a rat's nest of knots. Behind the concealing clump of hair, his skin was pasty white, almost sickly looking. His clothes were natty and patched, frayed at the cuffs and covered with filth. His feet were bare, sans a pair of holey socks, and his hands were grubby with dirt. His large, blue eyes were slightly glazed and it was clear that he was still intoxicated.

Nabber laughed abruptly, cutting through the tension. "I sure as hell wouldn't miss him! Pile of dirt, that one!"

"He's filthy-ugly, ain't he, Lizbeth?" giggled the shortest girl, shoving at her kinky black hair with a dusky hand. 

"He's filthy-disgusting, is what he is, Gabby!" snickered the last girl, a tiny thing with a mass of red curls. Each sniggered at the other's comments, companionably throwing arms over one another's shoulders.

Twist rolled his eyes. "Okay, so maybe he ain't gonna be missed. But what're we gonna do with 'im?"

The tallest boy suddenly spoke up. "We'll figure that out later. Snips, he's your responsibility for now. Get him cleaned up a little and put him to bed." He pushed a piece of blonde hair out of his eyes, staring thoughtfully at the young boy. 

"Sure thing, Solo. Come on, Kid, let's get that barf off of ya." Taking the dazed boy firmly by the hand, Snips led him into the room, heading towards a large tin bucket.

Five young faces turned to regard Solo, questions plainly written across each visage. With a quiet air of authority, he smiled reassuringly at them all. "Don't worry," he soothed, his voice subtly wicked. "If he doesn't work out, we'll just put him back where we found him. Just like the others."

Five faces nodded slowly, solemnly accepting the older boy's judgment.

*********** 

"Hey. You awake?" A toe nudged his side tentatively. The nameless boy dragged one eye open and scowled at the foot's owner. 

"Am now." He sat up, shoving knotted hair out of the way before rubbing at sleep-crusted eyes. "What's yer problem, kicking me like that?"

Ignoring his question, Wheezy giggled lightly. "Don'tcha wanna know where you are?" She crouched down at his side, leaning back on her heels., head tilted to one side. "I bet you're hung over, huh?" she asked sympathetically.

The boy blinked owlishly, realization dawning on his sluggish brain. "You ain't Remy," he observed flatly. 

"Ew! Gross! He's nasty!" Wheezy's thin nose wrinkled in distaste, as though she had been insulted.. "I sure as hell ain't that pile of shit." She smirked. "You don't remember, do you?"

"Remember what?" the brown-haired child asked suspiciously, drawing his legs to his chest. "What're you talking about?"

"Silly! Snips brought you home with him! You belong to us now!" Wheezy smiled welcomingly. 

"I don't belong to no one!" The boy glared fiercely in denial, his mind urging him to flee, but his body staying rooted to the floor. As the girl had assumed, he was hung over and his muscles didn't feel much like cooperating at the moment. The situation didn't seem dangerous, so he was willing to chance waiting for a while. At least until his head decided to stop trying to explode.

"Well, you ain't got anywhere else to go, stupid. But if'n Solo don't like you, yer goin' back out faster'n you can say 'fuck,'" the brunette chided. "What Solo says, goes. No argument. Ya got that? That's the one rule we got. Well, we got lots of other rules, too, but that's the biggie."

"Who's Solo?" the child grumpily asked, propping his aching head on his knees.

"Why, he's our leader, of course! But I don't wanna tell you too much, 'case we decide not to keep you," Wheezy solemnly informed him. "Solo said you could have some food, though, when you woke up. He didn't want you to be hungry even if we had to get rid of you." She reached into her overalls' pocket and pulled out a rotting apple. "Here. It ain't fresh, but it's easier to steal the old stuff than the new. They're not watchin' it as close." 

The boy looked at the proffered fruit, his face turning slightly green. Wheezy laughed. "Ooookay. You can eat it later, I guess." She put the apple where he could easily reach it. "Why don'tcha sleep 'til they get back? 'S gonna be a while. It ain't gonna get dark for hours."

Though he knew he should stay alert, the boy nodded reluctantly and laid back down. He felt too awful to stay awake any longer. Besides, the girl didn't _seem _like she was going to harm him... Closing his bloodshot eyes, he drifted off.

*********

The next time he was prodded awake, he opened his eyes to find not one, but seven childish faces inquisitively examining him. Apparently night had fallen and his benefactors had returned from their daytime tasks. Startled, he scrabbled upright, noting in the back of his mind that he felt markedly better. 

The children stood in a small cluster, a blonde boy at its front, his smile gentle and supportive. His eyes were a strange golden brown and he wore a patched yellow shirt. Noting the way the other children seemed to defer to his presence, the nameless boy guessed that he was the Solo person the girl had told him about earlier. Pushing himself to his feet, he moved to stand directly in front of the blonde twelve-year-old, staring defiantly up into his eyes. To his surprise, the older boy burst out into a hearty chuckle.

"Well, at least you ain't a bawling mess! Turn down the death glare, squirt, we ain't gonna hurt ya. I'm Solo and this here's my group. Ya already met Wheezy and Snips, right?" 

Solo's welcoming tone was so not what the boy was expecting that he found himself at a loss. Though he had planned to demand his freedom and possibly hit anyone who came too close, he found himself nodding mindlessly.

"Well, let's do the introductions, so we can get on with it," Solo continued, oddly formal. He pointed to each of the children, calling them by name. "Wheezy, Snips, Lizbeth, Twist, Nabber, and Gabby." Each waved hello, in turn. "And what about you? What's your name?"

"Don't have one," the boy admitted, knowing how odd it sounded, even to these self-named urchins.

The others exchanged looks and shifted curiously, but only Solo spoke. "No name? Well, what've they been callin' ya at Remy's, then?"

The child flushed an angry red. "I ain't sayin'! That ain't my name! I won't let you call me that!"

"Whoa, cool your engines, there, kiddo, 'fore you hurt something. I ain't gonna ask again, alright? We'll just give you a new name," Solo spoke as if it were the simplest thing in the world. "We don't know ya yet, so we can't get too personal. I think Kid will do for now. Okay with you, Kid?"

"Whatever." Kid crossed his arms across his chest and stared hard at his feet. "Don't matter none."

"Course it matters!" Solo grinned enthusiastically. "How'm I supposed to call ya in for supper if ya don't have a name?"

The other children laughed as though he had said something awfully clever. Kid watched with confusion in his eyes.

"I don't understand," he groused, tugging at his long, nappy hair. "You people are weird!"

The comment brought more laughter from the group. Seeing the state of perplexity Kid was lost in, Solo gently hushed them and sent them away. Though privacy was impossible in the smallish space, soon the two boys stood in a pocket of calm, the others engaged in various tasks about the room.

Solo smoothly dropped to sit cross-legged on the floor. Patting a spot next to him, he gestured for Kid to join him. Reluctantly, the boy obeyed.

"Okay, Kiddo, you and me got a couple a' things to chew over. Things like, what're ya good for?"

"Whadduya mean? I don't have to prove myself to you!" Kid glared, offended, feeling much more self-assured now that he was one-on-one with the older child. 

Abruptly Solo's laughing eyes turned hard. Leaning forward, his hand shot out and locked on Kid's skinny arm, his grasp a solid vise. He spoke in a flat, harsh tone devoid of all sentiment. "Listen here, Kid. We do things one way here and one way only. Mine. If you got a problem with that, I'll kick your ass out right now. I'm trying to do you a favor here and I'm not gonna put up with your lip. I'll ask you again. What can you do?"

Taken aback, Kid stared at the odd yellowy eyes. "R-Remy used to make me steal stuff from the customers," he offered shakily.

"Steal stuff? Like how?" Solo released his grip and sat back, once more calm and collected. Kid was stunned by his abrupt changes of attitude. This was _not _someone to be taken lightly. 

"When they were getting drunk, I'd pinch stuff offa 'em. Wallets and watches and stuff," he clarified. 

"Were you any good at it?"

"Never got caught yet!" the boy said proudly.

"Think you could do it if they weren't drunk?"

Kid snorted. "Sure! I done that lots a' times. Sometimes Remy didn't wanna wait none, ya know? Fat wallets didn't come in too much."

Solo nodded in thought. "Anything else you're good for?"

"I can punch good," the boy proudly revealed. "Didn't no one pick on me!" Looking at the boy's bruised arms and scabbed knuckles, Solo doubted that was true. Before he could call the boy's bluff, however, the child surprisingly corrected himself. "Well, none of the kids picked on me, anyways," he muttered. 

Noting the apparent penchant for honesty, Solo continued with his evaluation. "Can you run?" Kid rolled his eyes, producing an unexpected laugh from the other boy. "Okay, stupid question. Can you hide?" 

"Yeah, mostly," the boy sighed. "Sometimes ya don't get a chance, ya know?"

"Is that what happened last night?" Solo pressed. "Is that how ya got drunk?"

Kid shuddered, curling in on himself as if suddenly cold. "S-sometimes the men... they want stuff, ya know? I fight back pretty good. I guess it's easier when I can't. They grab me and make me drink stuff and-" he cut off abruptly, starting. "I don't wanna talk about it," he stated emphatically, avoiding Solo's knowing eyes.

"Okay, sure thing, Kid. That's one of our rules. You don't wanna say, we don't ask. Unless it's gonna cause trouble for us, a' course." He paused, eyes narrowing. "Is it gonna be a problem?"

Kid shook his head sharply. "Nuh-uh. No one'll think much if I up and disappear. Remy ain't... he ain't a nice guy, if ya get my meaning."

Solo pressed his lips together thoughtfully. "Okay. Can you do anything else? What did you do before Remy's?"

"Dunno," Kid shrugged. "Been there forever. Phil taught me to read some, 'fore he went away and I can do some numbers. Came in handy, when the bar got full."

Solo seemed to come to some decision. Nodding complacently, he turned the full force of his smile on the slight boy. "Okay, Kid. I think we're done here. You just might be worth having around, after all. Course you're gonna have to prove it, but I think you'll be okay." Suddenly, he frowned, taking in the boy's tattered condition. Twisting his head to face the back corner of the room, he called out in irritation: "Snips! Get over here! I thought I told ya to clean him up some? He don't look too clean to me."

Snips dropped down next to them, regret written across his plain face. "Sorry, Solo. Didn't know how much water I could use, okay?"

Solo sighed. "Well, find him some better clothes and see if we have some old shoes that'll fit. Try and figure out that mess of hair, too. And use as much water as you need! I hate to say it, Kid," he said in a friendly way, "but you smell like shit."

**********

Footnotes

[1] There is, officially, no name for the section of VO8744 where Duo lived. I chose to give the area a label simply for reference purposes. sepulcher: (n) 1. tomb, place of burial. 2. receptacle for religious relics. A bit dramatic, but fitting. 

[2] Using wood to build on a dehydrated colony would be pretty daft. Overly dry wood cracks like nothing else and will become very brittle unless properly tended to. It would also be expensive to import, unless L2 cultivated some highly efficient tree farms (unlikely). But, alas, impractical as it is, wooden construction seems to have been what they used. 

[3] Federation soldier.

Zooie: So there it is. The prequel. Dum da dum duh nuh. Yet another fic I've been sitting on for a month. I wasn't going to post it, especially since I don't know if the muses will ever want to finish it, but figured what the heck! Please excuse any roughness in the writing; like I said, I wasn't planning on posting this and never fine-tuned it. 


End file.
